So today is the four-month anniversary of my move from Maryland to SC.  And that amazes me.  Time is supposed to pass so slowly in the South--and it's true, in the sense that each day languidly flutters by.  But collectively, time whistles past.

Maybe all people my age feel that way, though, regardless of where they live.  I don't know.

Still, as quickly as time seems to have passed, it still feels like a long time ago that I was working as a reporter and living in Towson--perhaps because I wasn't a big fan of either of those things.

South Carolina living is nicer, living in a house is nicer than living in an apartment. The cats spend hours dozing in the sun on our patio. 

Neighbors are friendly.  Well, some of them are, anyway. And then there was that Saturday morning when there was a knock at the door at 7:30 AM.  My parents were visiting at the time, and both my mother and I stumbled from our respective rooms out to the living room to see what was going on.

I opened the door and saw a 20-something guy who looked normal enough but I was pretty sure was a stranger.  I expected him to be trying to either sell something or save my soul, but he just wanted a piece of aluminum foil.

He was helping his younger brother build a volcano, he said.

At 7:30 AM on a Saturday during the summer...?

Many questions came to mind.  But it was early and my mind was still fuddled, and I wasn't wearing my glasses, which would have made everything seem surreal, anyway. 

My mother chatted with the young man while I searched for the foil, but we didn't have any.  And so he went away.

Okay, so there's a 95% chance the dude wanted the foil for drugs.  But why did he choose my door to knock on?  Where did he come from?  Where did he go next?

Apparently, he went to my neighbors' place.  But there was no way those guys would get out of bed that early if they weren't working.  So after their place, who knows where he went.

No one since then has asked for any foil.  That's probably a good thing.

Since I've been working from home, I haven't met many people.  I do work, take walks, read, visit B at the cafe where he works.  That's about it. 

And I do most of the shopping, since my schedule is flexible.  The only grocery store that SC and MD have in common is Food Lion (and Wal-Mart). The closest store is the Piggly-Wiggly--and when I'd heard that name in movies and on TV, I thought it'd be more like a 7-11 (and there are no 7-11s here! and I'm a Slurpee addict!), but it's actually a nice and rather pricey supermarket.

The first time I went there was a warm spring day, probably in the low 80s or high 70s. As I was walking back to my car with my bags I heard a dog barking.  I saw the dog in a car with the windows cracked.

And I wasn't sure what to do. The heat wasn't blistering or anything, but it was definitely shorts and T-shirts weather, so I felt bad for the dog.  I paused, wondering whether I should write down the license plate number and take it inside to have the owner paged.  And then I saw a big, kind of biker-looking guy with a cart pause just a few feet away, also looking at the dog.

So, I though, okay, maybe this guy will report it.  After all, he was bigger. I waited for him to do something, but he continued standing there.  So I continued standing there.  And there we were.

Finally, I said, "Look at that.  That can't be good for the dog."

The guy gave me a blank look.

Uh oh.

So I said, "Is that your car?"

He said, "Yeah."

Shit. I squeaked out, "Sorry!" I wheeled around and booked across the parking lot, praying that he wouldn't follow.

And he didn't, but I did hear him grumble that I was a bitch.

Ah, making friends.

I've gotten a job for the fall teaching eighth grade English.  Everyone said it would be easy for me to get a teaching gig, but it took about five interviews for me to get offered anything.  And I took it because the stress of waiting was wearing me out. 

The school is about 40 minutes away, which is a drag, and I'd have rather taught high school, but this should be okay, I think.  And if it isn't, I'll transfer next year.  I'll just be happy to have benefits again and to be making steady money. Plus, it will be nice to interact with people regularly.  I need to make some friends.

And I need to get back into writing.  I've only written a couple blogs since I moved here, and even now I'm forcing myself to write this down (perhaps that is obvious).  I'm not sure what I want to be doing right now, but writing isn't it.  Reading is fun, though.  I think I'll go do that.