We're in Sacramento. We arrived last night, bags in tow, to one of the smallest airports I've ever seen; then took a cab downtown, which was like a ghostown at 9:30pm. We checked into the also deserted Hyatt and looked at a list of restaurants in the neighborhood; few were open past 10pm, many just until 9. Fortunately we found a P.F. Chang's open till 11. Only three other tables were populated.
But guess what: we might not be staying in CA. Yesterday morning, just two hours before we left for the airport, Andrew got an email that seems to confirm what an ambiguous phone call Friday evening suggested: he'll be offered another job, one he may prefer to this one, one that not only will be based on the opposite coast but will take us back to Spain temporarily. As I predicted, we were at the airport and Andrew was frantically trying to call the woman in Spain; there was the possibility of not getting on the plane, of buying a different ticket. He was unsuccessful, so we got on the plane to Sacramento--more because we don't really have anywhere else to go than any other reason. But last night, when the bellboy hauled our luggage onto a cart and joked, "Visiting for just one night?" I had to say, "Maybe."
So here we are in CA. We could be here for five days or five years. We could be buying a car this weekend or flying back to Barcelona. We could be apartment-hunting this week or just having a strange little vacation. I have never felt so displaced in my entire life. Like Schrodinger's cat, we're in several states at once: neither here nor not here, staying nor not staying, planned nor unplanned, knowing nor unknowing. It's 5:45am. By the end of the day our entire plan may have changed once more. Things are changing literally minute by minute.