Why we do the things we do

I have been going crazy this week because I have to pack, plan and procrastinate through another move, to another city and another college. So I have been trying to figure out "why we do the things we do" and by "we" I mean human beings. I am always on the move. I tell myself, and anyone who will listen, that I am tired of moving! YET - here I am trying to find some place to live near my new college in New Bern NC. Why you might ask? I want to live near a coast. I want to feel as though I am regarded as an asset instead of a commodity. In essence, I am searching for a place to call home.

But why now? I mean, Craven C.C. is a cool school with staff that are funny and intelligent, but so are the people at Gaston College, cool I mean. I am making friends at Gaston, have a great relationship with the bookstore manager (which all English teachers will agree is a definite bonus), books I like to teach with, support in the end and a really great boss - so why leave? I have no idea really other than I am closer to the coast and have the possibility of living on the water.

Cosmically my decision will effect no one, well my cats, but they have nine lives already, so they can just wait for a later life to have it their way. So why am I vacillating on my choice? Why am I questioning everything? I am not an indecisive person in general, but now I scrutinize every single tiny decision. How should I wear my hair today? Sock or sandals? 75, 74, 73 degrees to keep the house cool but not run up the bill? Ugh!

With all of this in mind, my boyfriend continues to listen to talk radio while I am in the car. Not a huge issue except I want to scream at all of them. Rush, Anne, Daily, Kim and some other guy who was out with some illness and Ron Chapman filled in. RON CHAPMAN! He was the morning DJ for KVIL in Dallas when I was young. My mom would listen to him every single day. AND now he is spouting some political mumbo jumbo. There is not one person I know who is not sick of listening to political promises and innuendo. But I digress. My point here is that I can't even listen to a few hours (more like 100) of talk radio. It is the job of those men and women to irritate the h** out of you, and yet I cannot sit there without yelling at them - who are on the radio - where they can't hear me - but my horrified boyfriend can, who quickly switches to FM and "YMCA." Why do we do the things we do?