I am lying on my new bed in my new room with my new boyfriend in NEW YORK CITY!! Brooklyn, actually. Bushwick, to be exact.

Today is a beautiful day. Brett's blanket is dappled with sunlight, and an until-recently lost Baby (Teresa's black pussy) is exploring the piles of suitcases, plastic bags and odds & ends that make up our room. Ours is supposed to be a no-cat zone, but, after I woke up and Brett told me he'd discovered her while I was asleep, I couldn't bear to keep her out. Besides, she's in discovery mode right now: sniffing everything she comes into contact with, climbing atop everything she can reach and crawling inside everything into which she can fit.

I slept from yesterday afternoon until 7-something today. My first thoughts were prayers straight to God that Baby would be returned to us safely. Then Brett rolled over and gave me the good news. She'd only been lost a few hours, and our new place was a total warzone with only little paths to get from room to room. Now I know she's fine, and that makes me happy.

I'm feeling a little bit of hunger as I lie here. I'd like to go someplace, have a little food and continue my account of our move.

********

Finally, I made it to the Myrtle-Wykoff Station, literally a few blocks from our house. I'd been wandering up and down streets and eventually realized I'd simply exited our street from the wrong direction. Now I'm stepping onto the L-train, heading into Manhattan. So nice to sit down. Most people on the train are either reading something or listening to their iPod. I am scribbling in a green composition book.

*******

How do I describe our move? My most vivid memory is passing over this enormously tall bridge in the rain. It felt like a nightmare. Brett was driving the final stretch in our 2 day trek in the 26-foot Penske moving truck, and this was the bridge that took us from Jersey to New York.

We were so far off the ground, the rain seemed to be originating around us, being produced and just beginning to fall--sideways and straight into our faces. The windshield was like staring directly into a giant shower head, turned on full blast. We were also in the outside, far right lane, designated TRUCKS ONLY.

I clung to the bench seat with my legs and dared not look right or left. I clenched my jaw and stared straight ahead, willing the vehicle to stay it's course, stay on the road, stay and not careen off the side into a toppling, terrifying death.

Once we were over the bridge, Teresa and I practically screamed our relief. Teresa glanced across me sympathetically at Brett, gripping the wheel and squinting through the rain. It was nerve wracking to ride in the passenger seat, but I think both of us were relieved that we weren't driving. All I can say is, my boyfriend is an big rig-driving stud.

*******

Throughout the drive, the three of us seemed to be tuned in to the same psychic frequency. We were always starting to sing the song that was playing in someone else's head or saying some random thing just before a billboard passed bearing the same message.

We listened to 2 audio books: Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert (amazing) and The Quickie by James Patterson and Michael Ledwidge (total trash). We also sang along with The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill and the Soundtrack to the movie Chicago (twice). We had to sing and speak so loud on account of the engine noise, I was nice and hoarse when we rolled into the City, about 2 am Saturday morning.

*******

After squeezing two couches, three beds and loads of other stuff into our adorable new place, Jeff and Dean jumped into the truck, and I drove over to Bradley Brown's 2nd floor apartment in Greenpoint (another little Brooklyn neighborhood). There, we moved all of the remaining cargo into Dean's new residence, a lovely room in Bradley's place (Bradley is--like Dean, Jeff and I--another fantastic musician from Denton).

The place Teresa, Jeff, Brett and I inhabit is on the 1st floor and basement. We have lovely white bedroom doors that stretch all the way to the ceiling, exposed brick walls in the kitchen and lots of sunlight. The bedroom I share with Brett has 2 windows that look out onto the garden in our backyard. Yes, that's right--a garden. And we have a magickal spiral staircase. It leads to The Wonderful Underworld, Jeff's kingdom of Supernatural Sound, a dream studio that houses all manner of musical equipment.

Yesterday, before going to Dean's new home, we all ventured up to the roof. Brett opened the door with the turn of a rusty latch and 1-2-3 thrusts of his shoulder. The entire roof is painted silver, and, from the highest point, you can indeed see the buildings of downtown Manhattan.

After climbing up and down Bradley Brown's steps about 10 or 15 times, Jeff and I left to get gas and return the truck. Driving in New York is itself a feat, but driving a ginormous 26-foot truck through these tiny, car-lined streets and scores of Saturday pedestrians felt like a trial-by-fire, like a strange dream where you're doing something impossible (for example, unicycling across a tightwire while playing the trombone) but you appear to be pulling it off beautifully.

After we returned, I was so out of it. I texted some folks while Brett ate a turkey sub from a deli down the street (so New York). Then I took a shower and fell into a deep, dark, dreamless sleep. I guess waking life had felt dreamlike enough already.

*******

Now I'm sitting on a park bench in Union Square. I felt like a new being when I woke up early this morning. I tiptoed around the apartment, searching for my phone, my bag, my shoes--quiet as a cat. I was accompanied by Baby, who was herself unusually loud as she lighted onto unstable surfaces, causing a series of small crashes. The absolute model of curiosity.

Turns out she had disappeared into a hole in the back of the cabinet under the kitchen sink. That thing led to only God (and rats and Baby) knows where, the very bowels of the building. While I slept, Teresa found her and gave her a bath (the innards of the building are far from clean I'm sure--I imagine CarolAnn just rescued from the TV people in Poltergeist). Yuck.

Speaking of the supernatural, I felt different as I grabbed a pair of short pants with suspenders and pulled on my split-toe Nikes. I felt like I'd just inhabited this body. The old spirit had been replaced with a new one.

I, of course, possessed all of Dan Paul's memories and most of his features (everything associated with imprints on the body), but the animating energy was fresh. Somehow, during the night, I switched souls and, in the morning, was reborn.

I'm not sure what all this means, but it just solidifies my intuition that this is a huge chapter change in my life. I can't even imagine what is going to happen, but I am setting my sights on high adventure, the Emerald City opening its gates to me and my friends. We are here to stake our claims or claim our steaks or whatever. We're here to be fashioned with diamond jumpsuits and harnesses, ready to become the twinkling stars we've watched winking at us from the night sky.

I am clicking my ruby heels together, and the world around me changes in a flash. We have a basement, a band, a beautiful present and an even more glorious future. We have moved on up to the East Side, to a deluxe apartment on the first floor, and I doubt I could be any happier (but I'll give it a shot).