…but it’s completely true that at least a piece of my heart was left in San Francisco. As I told a friend over a lovely sushi lunch today, it’s my favorite city in the world, and if I ever had the opportunity to move back, even if it meant trading my writing life for one of many San Francisco jobs with far less autonomy, I would.

Sadly, however, Fuzzy’s career is the one that dictates where we live, and unless we want to trade our house here in Texas for a condo in Boca Raton, we’re not moving.

Still, I’m two months away from my writing conference, which will mean a whole week in the city by the bay and I’m getting more and more excited, even though it’ll also mean a week of no Fuzzy and no dogs, and funky pillows.

And probably losing another piece of my heart.

My rhythm is completely off with Fuzzy away, and I hate to admit that, because it makes me feel like I don’t have a life without his presence. It’s not true, of course. We have separate interests anyway, and we don’t spend every moment of the weekend together even when he’s home, but the bed is too big at night, and the house is too quiet.

I spent Thursday night, working far later than I usually do, working, writing about such topics as California auto insurance, and staying up later than I should have, but the end result was that I didn’t have to work on Friday.

Here’s my thing about Fridays and work: In the mortgage industry, the loan officers all leave by two on Friday, leaving admins, processors and underwriters to close out the day. Inevitably there would be a crisis at 4:30 PM on Friday afternoon, and we’d end up cleaning up other people’s messes at six or seven, and really resenting having to be there so late. As a result, I like to have my Friday’s clear, so that if something comes up, I can handle it and be DONE. I’m not always able to do so – but I try pretty hard.

Come Saturday morning, I’m in a much better mood than I would have been if I’d been racing to complete tasks the day before.