The apartment is the lower floor of a big duplex. It's two blocks up a charming street from my favorite place in Oakland, Piedmont Ave. - a row of cute but unpretentious restaurants, coffee and tea houses, an indie movie theater, used bookstores, and a bar where we always meet friends to play Liar's Dice (which seems to be a Bay Area phenomenon, like Euchre was for the Midwest).

The duplex was probably built circa 1910, and like most houses in the Oakland-Berkeley area from that era, it has big windows, lots of built-ins (glass cabinets in the dining room, pull-down linen drawers, a window seat with storage space in the living room). The living room and formal dining room are enormous, with beautiful hardwood floors and a "plate rack" along the walls. They've remodeled the kitchen and put in lots of cabinetry and shelving; it has new appliances, including a dishwasher and little washing machine, except for the old '50s stove with a stovetop griddle. Great big windows in the back bedrooms, one of which A. will use for his office. There's a lovely back garden, with a brick patio and wrought-iron furniture, that we'll share with the mom, and there's a shed in the back where we can keep bikes and garden equipment and use for storage. We also have a garage and driveway space. I'm going to be about 5 minutes from the train station, so my commute will be perfect (15 minute ride to the city). And A. has a quiet place to work that's still within walking distance of good stuff. I understand the neighbors are close-knit and respectable too, unlike the trashy people we share our current duplex with, who have a fondness for junky, jacked up trucks with no mufflers.

So, yeah. We're moving in March.

Um. I got off on a tangent. Anyway, we are starting to make invitations now. But I freaked out this week anyway. Because all the thousands of details � about this work project, about the move, about the wedding � are taunting me. Screaming at me. The enormity of everything I have to get done in the next couple of months is making me very anxious.

So, A. and I have been scrapping more than usual. He can't take high-anxiety me. I'm sure I'm incredibly difficult to deal with when I'm like this. Whatever.