Life in Capital Letters

I know I haven’t been writing much lately. Let me explain..

A little over a month ago, my job hunt came to an end when I got an offer from a place in New Orleans. Before I started applying for jobs, New Orleans had not even been on my radar, really, and of all the locations I had applied for jobs, it was the least appealing (or so I thought).
But a job is a job and I took it. That gave me about two weeks to make it down to New Orleans and find an apartment. I’ve been incredibly busy since then. I made the 9 hour road trip, found an apartment, made the 9 hour trip back, packed, visited friends and family to say goodbye, then moved.

I’ve fallen for this city already, so I’d say that I chose well, but then I didn’t really - New Orleans chose me. Now that I’m here, I can see why people say that this is one of the most unique cities in America, an important piece of the puzzle that is American culture and history.
There’s also an irritating charm to the city that gets under your skin, in all ways good and bad. The air is hot and humid, but the people are slow and warm. Everyone wants to tell you their life’s story. (This can hold up the grocery line quite a bit, but nobody seems to really mind.) The roads are terrible, and the drivers worse. Jazz bands play at every restaurant, bar, and street corner, and music even seems to emanate from the sewers. “The streets are made of cheese and the air is paved with jazz.” - KL. This means there’s no such thing as a quiet walk through the city.
Underneath the veneer of voodoo/jazz/riverboat kitsch - tourism keeps this city alive - is a genuine mystique that seems all the more real when contrasted with the touristy side of New Orleans.

I do plan on getting my tea leaves read.
Preferably by an old woman with cataracts that have nearly blinded her, in an old shop that smells like various herbs and just enough like decay that I’ll wonder whether she’s alive or.. reanimated. There will be a large cat that will stare at me for ages, then go purr something in the old woman’s ear. She’ll say that she won’t tell me what he said, and that I wouldn’t believe it even if she did.
Then she’ll put me in a trance, take me to the back of her shop and harvest my organs. The end.

Anyhow, I’m settled in now and will soon get back to writing regularly.