Okay...so....you improvise long enough in Chicago, and sooner or later you're going to know people that are in commercials, movies and most importantly in the realm of Chicago comedy...are writers or performers on SNL.

Each night, as I pack boxes and take my enormous Sharpie marker to scribble words like "Leslie Office" and "Kitchen" and deal with Radon tests and homeowner's insurance, I realized....I know four more people joining the cast this year. In fact, my list of people in the comedy world who are "making it" seems to constantly increase. I'm heading to Iowa and baby making and crock pot recipes, and others are heading to New York, bright light and having their writing placed in front of the world to enjoy.

I remember the moment I lost it. Eric got deployed. I lied on my cold bathroom floor curled up in the fetal position and could not believe my life had come to this moment. The idea of going onto a stage, pretending I was an ex-hooker highway patrol woman now-turned zombie sounded idiotic. I realized that "playing" wasn't fun anymore.

For years, comedy to me was the most outstanding drug. Like red wine slowly swishing in your mouth before it melts lazily down your throat. Walking on clouds. Pure play. And I'm good at it. I know what is funny, I have excellent timing, and can feed any on stage partner to greatness. However....the instant that moment happened, when my life went from being goofy and fun to Iraq and death and the possibility that things might not end in a fairy tale - I changed. I didn't want to, but I did.

Like I said, I didn't want to. I forced going to shows and rehearsals. Forced myself to write comedy sketches. I fought, I fought, I fought. It made everything worse. I cried and mourned and wondered why. I was being steered down a path that I didn't understand, away from a life I imagined for myself for so long. I killed myself running the wrong way on a fast-moving escalator - not getting anywhere. After I stopped forcing, stopped running, I realized. I just didn't want it anymore.

That was a sad day. But then not a sad day. If I really wanted it - I'd be there. There's a reason I'm not. There's a reason why. I gotta believe that. God knows that I'm packing boxes - he's sending me there. Is there a part of me that is envious when another person I know gets a job on SNL? Yeah....cause I know I could do it. I know I'd like it. I know I write funny sketches...but God knows better. God knows I couldn't handle the BS that no doubt comes with it. Maybe he knows that I'd work my butt off, not get very far, then regret not having kids or having a more solid marriage. I know I'd regret that.

I told my friend Jen that I was moving. She was on the Second City stage and had a chance for SNL a few years ago, and chose family instead. She doesn't regret it. We're from the same hometown. When I told her, she calmly said, "you were done with Chicago anyway, weren't you?" I shrugged quietly. "You can always find ways to be creative." she added, "ways to use your voice....no matter where you are."

She's right. Wherever I am at, I'll find a way to use my voice. A new way to find my sense of play from Iowa suburbia within the crock pots and Saturdays working on the backyard. So I'll follow the path I'm given, try not to fight it, be happy for my friends and support them by tuning in on Saturday night at 10:30pm.

Play should evolve. I shouldn't want to be a 40-something playing an ex-hooker highway patrol woman zombie. I should want more for myself. I should be a 40-something ex-hooker highway patrol woman zombie, struggling to overcome her drug habit so she can get her kids back from foster care.

Eric is away at military training. I'm in our apartment in Chicago....packing. Here in Chicago there are no more pictures on the walls, resting on cabinets, anywhere. A stranger could walk into this 1200 square foot space and not have a clue as to the people that reside there. Bare.

Eric is set up in furnished apartment near the military base where he will begin training on Monday. It was furnished for the soldier before him, and the soldier before that soldier. It's bare as well.

There is so much power in having a home. A place to belong to. It's like a hanger for a shirt, it gives it form and strength. Four walls and a roof, doesn't matter. My home is where WE are. WE are miles apart.

WE are working, making plans, pushing towards a bright future filled with good things. Those things require a bit of blood, sweat and tears and we're in the beginnings of it now. When I was in college and things were getting tough, my Dad once said to me, "just keep your head down and keep digging." As I tape shut another box, gazing out my window to the beautiful night skyline of Chicago, this is one of those times.

A closing date is set. Movers are planned. A personal vow to pack each and every weeknight from 6:30 - 8:30PM from now until October has been etched. I think to myself that a little bit at a time will ease the process of moving from my home in downtown Chicago to my new residence in Iowa. It's a battle. One picture taken off the wall throws it's first gash into my heartbroken chest, while the image of a new ceiling fan that completes the perfect look for my new dining room cuts it's hot metal blade into the nail and hanging wire, making it bow at my feet.

Sunday afternoon, just before Eric left for military school, we hugged each other in the center of our beautiful apartment. The apartment that I moved us to while he was in Iraq. Blood, sweat and tears went into every paint color, every decorative pillow, every specifically placed tchotchke. This has been our first home. He kissed my forward and tears came to my eyes. Gently placing his house keys on the kitchen counter top, he softly whispered. "This place did great for us hun, you did great." Then his next words echoed in my brain, words that he says over and over to me. "We're not meant to stay here, we're meant to move forward."

He will be at military school till November, and I will close this chapter for us both. Then I will open another one. In a new state, making a new home. Starting over. Moving forward. I promised Eric that in our new home that I would re-create our beloved chalkboard wall from our Chicago apartment. Guests throughout the years have left messages both funny and thoughtful. It is a colorful reminder of how loved we are. "We gotta do that again" he said.

I'm planning. I'm slowly moving forward, knowing that we're not meant to stand still. Wanting to do good for Eric, for us....for myself.

So....Friday....I HAD to get to the Quad Cities to see my DREAM HOUSE. Only, my dream house did NOT turn out to be my dream house. It turned out to be a constructional nightmare with the best of intentions. The man who owned the house obviously took an old beat up farmhouse and tried to create his own utopia....only to run out of money. Apparently, his wife and kids ran out of patience and took off for greener pastures....leaving him behind to sell the money pit he once cherished.

My parents, my realtor walked through the home politely and then left that joint and did not look back. Gingerly walking out the door to the heartbroken pleads of the seller stating, "just make me an offer, I'm very motivated to sell". As we drove away my Dad sighed, "poor guy, he was in WAY over his head. Now He's screwed".

Damn, that was the plan. To look at that house. The house that, in the four pictures included within the online listing....was my dream home. My ideal. I saw the listing the day before, and I drove 3 hours fantasizing on that house. There was nothing else. Now what? I sat in the passenger seat of my parents Camry....clueless and hungry. We were heading to Azteca, the only real Mexican restaurant in town, and a family favorite.

"You know, I drove around for hours on my motorcycle yesterday" my dad said, "I saw a house on Coffelt Ave. you might like." "I saw that house a month ago" I responded, telling him about my disgust of the endless rose wallpaper that plastered nearly every room of the 1st floor. "Ah hell, you can steam that off easily" my Dad said. My mother agreed. "You should look at it again."

I called my realtor Marty on the phone on our way to fajitas. It was still on the market. "I'll set it up and call you guys with a time." After lunch, we re-visited the house. What I failed to appreciate early in my home searching became all to clear now. I passed over the perfect place. "I remember Eric loved this backyard." Marty mentioned. True. He did. He loved the thick Oak trees and wooded grounds. He loved the large space between neighbors and the private feeling. I loved the location. A couple blocks from bike trails, shops and Mississippi River. Storage space, large deck, large kitchen, and the list goes on and on. These people took care of their home. A note inside the front door asked perspective buyers to please remove their shoes upon entering. Then the cherry on top: it was in Bettendorf. Just a couple streets into the city limit. "Best school system in the QCA." my Dad reminded me. True yet again.

What was I thinking? Why didn't I notice how great this house was before? Why didn't I see that this house is the ideal for both Eric and myself? There wasn't even a need for either of us to compromise here. But I was clueless. Boom. There was the rose wallpaper. Thick and expansive. Yuck. That blinded me. My Dad was calm and re-assuring. "I'll get someone to get rid of it all." he said. "Won't cost more than $500 total." He even promised to pick up the tab if I made an offer. Deal.

I called Eric. "I'm buying a house" I said. "Cool. Great!" Eric replied. "The dream house?" he said. "Well....no....and then....yes."

I went to my realtor's office Friday late afternoon to prepare the offer, and she called us Friday to say it was accepted. "Congratulations" she said. "You are a homeowner."

I'd like to think God teased me to get me to the Quad Cities....only to show me something more than I could have imagined for myself. As I drove there that morning, so excited to see what I thought was my "dream house" I kept trying to calm myself. I would ask God, "just do what you think is best for me Lord" I would repeat over and over as the mile markers went past. Sure enough...he did.

I am awake super-ass early this morning, coffee is grinding and shower is warming up. I'm leaving Chicago for the day, to look at what is potentially the last home for sale in the Quad Cities.

I've seen everything...EVERYTHING. Nothing is "quite right". The closest we came was a house in a great area that I felt a strong feeling of "I can work with this." It needed a new kitchen immediately and new windows, siding, and deck/landscaping eventually. We made an offer. They countered. They countered poorly and I got a bad taste in my mouth about the whole things. Dealer over.

That exact morning a listing showed. "NEW" was highlighted next to the description. The pictures wooed me. Artsy interior, open space, great color, textures and light. Great school district too. I saw a place for my office and a kitchen I can cook in. For Eric....a big, lush, green backyard. A private backyard. The size and emmensity of a yard that makes me make him PROMISE to take care of it. Like a small child with a puppy he will beg and plead for it, swearing not to ask for anything this upcoming Christmas.

This is the first time my gut is singing to me. It's fate. I want this house.

I'm going to look at it today with my parents. They are a lethal combination of love and protection for me with experience in home buying and construction. Since I mentioned how much I wanted to see it yesterday, their instinctive gears have been in overdrive. Researching, planning, investigating. My father has already announced his discoveries.

"You know that is not a wood floor it's a laminate." my dad sighed. "They have to pay for their own snow removal out there" my Mom exclaimed. So on, and so on. Their "pickiness" for lack of a better word - could be my savior or my downfall.

I'm at my end. If this house is not "the house" then we'll have to put the breaks on the search for now. We'll go to plan B or wait it out a few more months and see what is on the market. We have options. Eric reminds me that we are in no hurry. "Make sure you get what you want" he says supportively. A good friend reminded me that we are the "ideal buyer in this economic market." I know, I know...but I want this to be the house. I hate my brain rattling back and forth and leaving me empty. Giving me a deadline where we will not have a solid home. I want the house that speaks to me....and this is it. I wanna believe that with all the crappy things going on in the world, that God has taken the time out of his busy terrorism/corruption filled days to show me my house saying..."Leslie, here it is - go get it. And by the way, ha, ha, ha that I made you look at EVERYTHING ELSE before I showed you this one. Clever of me huh?"

I also know....as life tends to remind me, that whenever you force something...bad things happen. I AM going to look at this house on Friday, August 13th. Friday the 13th. Sheesh.I have to be sensible. I have to be open-minded. This is a big purchase.

All that in mind, I want this house. I want this to be the house. I want my Dad to say, "well, you know it has a lot of potential" and recommend I buy it. I want the seller to take my offer, and while he's at it, throw in his washer/dryer combo. I want the world to be rainbows and sunshine and taste like chocolate covered salty pretzels.

I want this to work out. I'm looking at my house today. On Friday the 13th.