I intended for this entry to be about our trip to Greencastle, but I came home from work tonight to discover that Hula's office had closed. He's out of a job. Usually, Hula has this nasty habit of calling me at work with bad news. 

"Hi Gracie? It's Hula. I crashed the car."

"Hi Gracie? It's Hula. The guinea pig is dead." 

"Hi Gracie? It's Hula. I inadvertently wiped out this tape you've been saving for ten years because I didn't want to miss the end of that Lost in Space episode. You know, the one where Penny gets to keep monkey with the furry hat."

"Hi Gracie? It's Hula. I took a job in Chicago--you have to quit your kick ass job as hurricane damage photographer and we're leaving New Orleans." 

There is nothing worse than getting phone calls like this at work where there is not a damn thing you can do about it, not to mention that you have to put on a good and happy face, pretending you didn't just receive horrid news that nearly broke your heart in two. 

Bless his heart for not calling me today. I was busy having fun, blithely enjoying my new position that I'm now going to have to prematurely leave, and spending a portion of the afternoon e-mailing frivolously with one of my favorite Invisible Internet Friends. I had no idea what I was coming home to. No idea.

I don't have a tremendous amount to say about this now. I'm simply making note of the date, and the feeling that everything's falling apart. I always run away from the journal when my life gets messy, but today I didn't. To be frightfully honest, this is the second time in about eight months this has happened to him and to us. Looking back, I didn't write about it then. In fact, I wrote only four entries that month. It's just so dreadfully dull to write about the misery of life. For me and for you.

I'm in quite a panic about all this. 

So, we are stepping up our move to New England. What was going to happen in September will happen much sooner than expected. Can we do it on one income? I have no idea. I did use the word "panic" a few sentences ago, right?

I'm so not ready to go.

(By the way, I can't say that the "bad news comes in threes" element is completely lost on me. First his grandmother, then his job . . . what's next?)