I haven't talked much about the house-buying thing we have going on here, mainly because I figured I might as well save your eyeballs the strain of rolling backwards into your head. Oh god, here's yet another detail-laden narrative about a pile of lumber and glass.
But now I can't not talk about this thing anymore, because my house-thoughts are occupying every square centimeter of my brain. There is no room for anything else, people. It's a constant, annoying hum; making me question my sanity, doubt my motives, pace the floors, and strip down to my skivvies to sing Freddie's Mercury's part of "Under Pressure" in my best falsetto. I mean, you know, just for kicks.
2012. Ehhhh.
I was dreading the new year. In fact I still am, because come on. A year featuring a presidential election and end-of-the-world mania? A year in which our grasp of civil liberties grows more tenuous and Katy Perry is slated to perform at the Grammys? And on top of all that we continue to be obligated to behave like responsible adults?
Marvelous. Sign me up.
Lately I've been forcing myself outside at night, no matter how much more work I have left to do. I grab my iPod and jam my feet into my shoes and I'm out the door. Reluctantly, yes, but the point is: I'm out.
So the other evening I was out there wandering around, gazing intently at the trees or the sidewalk in order to avoid making eye contact with people.1 I was thinking about absolutely nothing. It's during these moments of compulsory inactivity, of course, that your brain silently goes to work unraveling the threads of your life's fabric. And so suddenly I was hit with a realization: I'm not working towards anything right now.
Right now, I have no goals or dreams.
Really? None?
Yeah, really.
Three things. Well, two things, and a story.
First. Thank you so much for all your thoughts and insight on my job situation. You guys will probably not be disappointed to find out that my final decision was to go with Opportunity #1. After I read your comments, I talked it over with the beau. "It's a no-brainer that you should go with the first option for your career advancement," he told me. "But what about our future?" I asked. "Your career advancement is our future," he replied sagely.
That's when I collapsed on the floor and melted into the carpet. It's official. He wins the "Best Husband I've Ever Had" award. I don't just give those out to anyone, you know.
I'm kind of nervous. True, I'll be making more money per hour at this new job, but I'll be working fewer hours. The best I'm hoping for is that it evens out to what I'm making now, or slightly less. And it's true that I can take on side jobs to help split the difference. Either that or I can simply take any hours I am not working each week and devote them to learning and training, which is kind of like paying myself with knowledge instead of cash. I think I'm going to just have figure it out as I go.
Yesterday the link to this site was getting passed around the intertubes like some kind of virtual venereal disease. I succumbed. I clicked on the link and read back a few pages. Then I closed the tab window and forgot.
Well, mostly forgot. One day later, I am turning this over and over in my mind:
YOUR JOB I know I’m ‘the free spirited one’, but you’re not allowed to be doing something that makes you miserable. Sorry. We’ll fucking live in a box, it’s fine.
The beau came home from work last night as per usual. And as per usual, I asked him how his day had been. "A resident told me I was soulless," he said flatly, by way of reply.
Today marks the sixth anniversary of my move to California. For those unfamiliar with the story, a recap:
I used my already-overburdened credit card to buy a one-way flight to L.A. after spending my first year and a half after college working a series of depressing temp jobs in the Washington, D.C. area. I was a receptionist for a third-party insurer; I copied legal documents at a law firm; I answered inbound calls at a florist; I updated technical manuals and shipped aircraft parts from a warehouse. I was paying rent to live with my parents deep in the suburbs. I was spending one and a half to two and a half hours in my car every day. One of my coworkers was my only friend in the area. I hadn't dated anyone since graduation, and my ex-boyfriend, with whom I had a complicated relationship but nevertheless had remained a close friend, called me long-distance on my birthday to tell me he wasn't going to talk to me anymore.
You could say I wasn't very happy.
In lieu of New Year's resolutions, upon returning from our holiday travels I decided to just make a giant to-do list instead. I made this list on Sunday, and by the time I went back to it the following day I was having trouble even comprehending it. Reasearch books? What books? Couldn't I have provided a little more clarification here? Website? Which one? There are several to choose from. Underwear and bra? I'm assuming this is a missive to find and purchase new ones and not a reminder to check that I am actually wearing them. And why did I actually put a question mark next to the solitary word Dust? It's as if I've already given up. The dusting will never get done if it's treated as tentative suggestion.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I do need a New Year's resolution: write better lists.
We were honeymooning on Vancouver Island.
On the drive from Ucluelet to the ferry terminal in Nanaimo, the car fell silent. “What are you thinking about right this second?” I inquired of the beau. “That sign,” he said, gesturing to a black and yellow checkered road sign that warned of an approaching curve.1 “And driving.” A few moments passed. “What are you thinking about?” he asked me. “Narcolepsy,” I replied. “Like, can it happen at any time? Can you be running and all of a sudden, bam, you’re laid out on the pavement in a dead sleep?”2
Other things. Now that we don’t have a wedding to plan anymore, we think and talk about other things. Turns out that other things are like riding a bike: you may feel a bit rusty when you get back on, and those muscles may ache from disuse. But you never forget.
The beau and I spent a lot of time on our honeymoon talking about other things, and about The Future. The Future is something we’d talked about before, obviously, but during the whirlwind months of wedding planning we’d apparently lost sight of it. We were on a deadline, see. We were working towards something very specific. Then that thing was over, and we were suddenly like: okay, what now?
