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In my twenties, I decided I didn't want to be famous. I wanted to live in a log cabin in the woods, completely removed from society. I wanted to have wolves as pets and not pay taxes. I'd wear sweatpants around the house two weeks at a time (or Calvin Klein courderoys) and spend all my hours watching wildflowers grow along the edge of my wrap-around porch.

I always held out for that cabin; I was sure I'd have it. It's time, however, to put that little dream in the trash.  In my forties, and in a wild, sad, funny, tender, and frightening turn around, I am ambushed by the very mortifying fact that -

I.

Cannot.

Live.

Alone.

My first week back in Arizona wasn't all that bad. In fact, I rather enjoyed being in my own space. I fantasized about all the hours I'd spend writing That Book. I realized my fondness for fried pickles. I choreographed badass routines to Cassie's Me & U and DJ Laz's Move Shake Drop. I found definite entertainment in my mundane reality.

By week two, it just became mundane (with a little schizo paranoia thrown in).

Surviving boredom - and sleeping with the light off - has been challenging. One night, to keep from going stale and yawning myself to death, I downloaded NINETEEN new apps to my iPhone. I now have a flashlight, a boxing timer, at least 5 different photo editing tools, Paula Dean's cooking magazine, some uber-brilliant quotes, the CalorieKing (had to once I got Paula Dean), solitaire, Walgreens, a talking cat, and a gas buddy. As it turns out, last month when I got my new iPhone, I lost my unlimited data plan, so I'll be deleting all my new apps - they. suck. data. I think I'll keep solitaire, though. That game will always be badass.

You would think that I'd have my hands full, after all, I am a 'newly' new grandmother. Just so happens I raised an independent child who wants to do this on her own. I offered bribes. She didn't bite. I offered God's right hand. Then his left. A week into grandmotherhood and I haven't changed a single diaper. I have, however, done her food shopping.

Sitting in an empty apartment is driving me nuts. If you're wondering why it's empty, it's because my yin and yang haven't cooperated enough for me to make a trip back to Vegas to collect my house. I'm betting about now that John and Margaret are considering Craigslisting in order to take back their garages.

"I swear you'll have your garages back soon. Or by Fall. Whichever comes first."

In the meantime, I have a weeks worth of clothes, 3 pair of shoes, a TV, DVD player, and 9 seasons of NCIS. But you want to hear something that really sucks? A weeks worth of clothes makes for a really tiny load of laundry. Laundry which has to be done in the community laundry room, operated by quarters. Imagine that, my first week in the apartment and I noticed it had pot smokers, meth bakers, 42 BMWs and really large dumpsters, but I never noticed it didn't have a washer and dryer in the unit.

Looking on the bright side of things, if I was in that log cabin, I probably wouldn't have 4G, just 9 seasons of NCIS.