I still don't have internet (come on Tuesday evening!), but I've found a good thing in this town. Actually I knew about it before, but this is the first time I've been here: a really delightful little coffee shop (with free wireless and adequate outlets, huzzah!). There is no Starbucks in town--praise heaven for small favors--and this place is full of its own Independent Cafe Charm. They even seem to sell fair-traded or homemade gifts or some such; I haven't looked too closely, but that's what I think that rack against the wall is full of. And homemade ice cream, which I haven't tried yet but WILL TRY. Unfortunately it, like the library, is closed on Sunday, so I'm not sure that I'll even be able to get online again until Monday. Oh well.
So yeah, this is something.
And there's a supposedly large natural-foods store about 25 minutes away; I may have the loan of a car later this weekend, and go there to stock up. I'm trying my hand at yogurt-making. Things might just straighten out.
Another pleasure, although this one is decidedly seasonal: the noises here, at night and in the early morning. Crickets and cicadas and that's about it. Years of urban living and I'd forgotten how loud those guys can be. It's really nice to have that be the only noise--at night but also during parts of the day, because my street is really quiet. As my mom reminded me last night, I'm used to cities. This is a different kind of place, demanding a different kind of life. I'm not sure that I'm going to get totally into it, but it might have its merits, all the same.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
Adjusting
Okay. So I'm going to be open-minded. There will be things to like here, right? There are good things about every place. Right?
Here's the deal: My apartment is pleasant, light, quiet, and consoling. Everyone I've met is nothing but friendly. But the town...oh, the town. Field Town, I am disappointed in you.
What I'm realizing (in the 3 days that I've been here) is that there are certain things that I like to have nearby. Near enough to walk to, ideally. Or to bike to--but there's no bike shop in town, so even if there were these things in bikeable range, I wouldn't be able to get to them. These are the things that I like to the point of needing:
It's a shame.
Last night, making dinner, I suddenly felt sad. More than that: I felt afraid. What if this was all a mistake? I wondered. What the hell, in fact, was I thinking? Moving all the way out here, away from everyone I care about and the lifestyle I'm used to (and love), for a short-term, middlingly-paid job that I'm not actually sure yet that I'll like? Am I insane? Is everyone secretly thinking, "Wow, that j, she sure made a nutty decision there"?
Then, of course, I thought about how many of my friends have done this exact same thing, for the same stakes and with all the same discomforts (some in far, far worse places), and I felt a little better.
--Sort of. Because just how bizarre is this profession, that we expect to have to live far away from our families, friends, and partners, going through exhausting moves year after year, often postponing having children, just in the hopes of one day being able to settle in approximately the part of the continent that we'd prefer? Or in the hopes of being able to settle somewhere, period?
I know that this is an old subject, and I don't have anything new to add; nor can I imagine a plausible solution. I've thought about this a lot before, too. But living it--well, it adds a certain reality to the madness. I know that I'll get used to this place, and will probably like it fine before the year is out. (Maybe I'll break down and get a car--surely all the things I want are within half an hour of here. And I used to walk half an hour to yoga, so what's the difference? Other than the fossil fuel consumption, of course.) Right now, though, it just seems crazy.
Here's the deal: My apartment is pleasant, light, quiet, and consoling. Everyone I've met is nothing but friendly. But the town...oh, the town. Field Town, I am disappointed in you.
What I'm realizing (in the 3 days that I've been here) is that there are certain things that I like to have nearby. Near enough to walk to, ideally. Or to bike to--but there's no bike shop in town, so even if there were these things in bikeable range, I wouldn't be able to get to them. These are the things that I like to the point of needing:
- a yoga studio (or, at worst, a gym with yoga classes)
- a decent grocery store or farmers' market
- a bookstore (other than the campus bookstore, which only sells course books)
- multiple restaurants
- a pleasant place to have a drink
- a nice cafe
It's a shame.
Last night, making dinner, I suddenly felt sad. More than that: I felt afraid. What if this was all a mistake? I wondered. What the hell, in fact, was I thinking? Moving all the way out here, away from everyone I care about and the lifestyle I'm used to (and love), for a short-term, middlingly-paid job that I'm not actually sure yet that I'll like? Am I insane? Is everyone secretly thinking, "Wow, that j, she sure made a nutty decision there"?
Then, of course, I thought about how many of my friends have done this exact same thing, for the same stakes and with all the same discomforts (some in far, far worse places), and I felt a little better.
--Sort of. Because just how bizarre is this profession, that we expect to have to live far away from our families, friends, and partners, going through exhausting moves year after year, often postponing having children, just in the hopes of one day being able to settle in approximately the part of the continent that we'd prefer? Or in the hopes of being able to settle somewhere, period?
I know that this is an old subject, and I don't have anything new to add; nor can I imagine a plausible solution. I've thought about this a lot before, too. But living it--well, it adds a certain reality to the madness. I know that I'll get used to this place, and will probably like it fine before the year is out. (Maybe I'll break down and get a car--surely all the things I want are within half an hour of here. And I used to walk half an hour to yoga, so what's the difference? Other than the fossil fuel consumption, of course.) Right now, though, it just seems crazy.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
According to Plan
Well my goodness, y'all's've been busy. My bloglines are overloaded. And, since I'm writing this from a carrel in the paltry little Field College library (closed after 4:30 pm and on weekends during the summer), I'm unlikely to be caught up anytime soon: my internet won't be connected until Tuesday. Unless, that is, I get my office key before then...in which case I can use my office computer. No promises, though.
So everything went perfectly well, and by general consent this was the most organized move in the history of the world. It's true that I did accidentally put into storage one box that was supposed to come here, to Field Town, and that the cord for plugging in my printer has mysteriously gone missing, but all things considered--this was a 5-day move, involving 9 different people--I'm pretty pleased.
Driving is not scary, by the way. I'm so over my phobia. Hallelujah! I = a functional adult!!
It was really nice having my dad here for the last few days (he drove out with me--a two-day trip--and stayed until this morning). I actually felt a little weepy when he left; it was very comforting to have him around to help me get settled in. He's great with this kind of thing. He'll do things like decide that I need a hanging lamp over my kitchen table (with my consent, of course), then just go out and find me one--and, if we hadn't found one, he was prepared to make one for me. He also made me a big batch of his special, delicious granola to tide me over for a couple of weeks.
But now I'm here on my own, trying to figure out how my life is going to look for the next nine months or so.
My apartment, I like. It's the second floor of an old house, with its own entrance (which is nice) and a very grandmotherly little kitchen. I found a square wooden clock with three geese wearing blue ribbons around their necks on it in a thrift store ($1), contributing substantially to the grandmotherly look. I have somehow wound up with a twin bed (eh) and a huge la-z-boy recliner (complete with built-in cooler!), thanks to the scrounging efforts of my department chair. So the place is furnished, and comfortable, and could use some stuff on the walls. Today I need to get my email account working--in fact, I should do that right now--and then open a bank account.
That's enough for the moment. Apologies for the rather dull and disjointed post, but that's how I'm feeling today. More as I settle. And I'll try to get caught up on all your doings in the next week or so!
So everything went perfectly well, and by general consent this was the most organized move in the history of the world. It's true that I did accidentally put into storage one box that was supposed to come here, to Field Town, and that the cord for plugging in my printer has mysteriously gone missing, but all things considered--this was a 5-day move, involving 9 different people--I'm pretty pleased.
Driving is not scary, by the way. I'm so over my phobia. Hallelujah! I = a functional adult!!
It was really nice having my dad here for the last few days (he drove out with me--a two-day trip--and stayed until this morning). I actually felt a little weepy when he left; it was very comforting to have him around to help me get settled in. He's great with this kind of thing. He'll do things like decide that I need a hanging lamp over my kitchen table (with my consent, of course), then just go out and find me one--and, if we hadn't found one, he was prepared to make one for me. He also made me a big batch of his special, delicious granola to tide me over for a couple of weeks.
But now I'm here on my own, trying to figure out how my life is going to look for the next nine months or so.
My apartment, I like. It's the second floor of an old house, with its own entrance (which is nice) and a very grandmotherly little kitchen. I found a square wooden clock with three geese wearing blue ribbons around their necks on it in a thrift store ($1), contributing substantially to the grandmotherly look. I have somehow wound up with a twin bed (eh) and a huge la-z-boy recliner (complete with built-in cooler!), thanks to the scrounging efforts of my department chair. So the place is furnished, and comfortable, and could use some stuff on the walls. Today I need to get my email account working--in fact, I should do that right now--and then open a bank account.
That's enough for the moment. Apologies for the rather dull and disjointed post, but that's how I'm feeling today. More as I settle. And I'll try to get caught up on all your doings in the next week or so!
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Finality
So it's my last night in this apartment before the madness of actual moving begins tomorrow morning. I feel that I should say something reflective. Because this was a sort of big-deal place for me to live: I moved here almost exactly three years ago, following the destruction of a cohabitational relationship. I basically fled the place I'd been sharing with my then-boyfriend--which shouldn't give you the wrong idea: he wasn't a scary person or anything, it just took me a REALLY long time to end the relationship and I knew that if I didn't leave immediately I'd've waffled and probably stayed with him for even longer. So when I rented this apartment, I had a suitcase with me, and that was about it. The rest of my stuff was still in the shared apartment, and didn't arrive for about a week.
I remember that first night really well. I was sitting on the floor of the kitchen, feeling a little bit repulsed by the floor (which wasn't filthy but needed a mopping), eating a sandwich I'd made off of a paper plate. It was the first night that I'd been alone since my boyfriend and I had broken up a week and a half earlier. The apartment was empty, and this one room that was painted bright red was sort of staring at me. (Repainting it was my first order of business that week.) I felt...strange. Excited about the new apartment, and the whole starting-over point of my life that I was in: I'd been dating my ex since the start of grad school, pretty much, and we'd spent the previous year living in a city about an hour away from campus. So I was looking forward to starting up my new, independent life. But I also had a weirdly edgy feeling, like the bottom could drop out of my excitement at any moment. I was anxious and wound up and vaguely upset.
And now it's been three years, my ficus is much taller, and the kitchen floor needs to be mopped again. It's been a really good three years. I got to do some things that I'd wanted to try, like hip-hop dance classes and intramural soccer. I made a bunch of new friends right after the break up and sort of drifted away from them within the next year, but my older friendships got stronger and better once I was back in GradCity and on my own. I've spent a lot of time in these rooms, working or messing around or making stuff or just watching TV and eating cookies, very happily alone. And I've also spent a good bit of time missing the (current) boyfriend, who only lived in this town for about 4 months of our relationship.
None of this is very profound. My feelings right now aren't very profound. Mostly I just want to be done with the driving and loading and whatnot, and to actually see my new apartment. This whole radically different new life upon which I'm about to embark is...unsettling, to say the least, but I kind of just want to tackle it, to know that it's not bad and scary and to make it work.
I'll tell you one thing I'll miss, though. I'll miss my yoga studio. I had my last class with my amazing teacher tonight, and it's sad to think that I might never see him again, or hear any more of his habitual, corny little jokes ("The good news is, we're going into the bow posture!" "And if you can't get into a full hanumanasana, don't worry, that just means that you'll never achieve enlightenment. No, I'm kidding. It doesn't matter").
Okay, off for a drink with J. In an air-conditioned bar. Whoo!
I remember that first night really well. I was sitting on the floor of the kitchen, feeling a little bit repulsed by the floor (which wasn't filthy but needed a mopping), eating a sandwich I'd made off of a paper plate. It was the first night that I'd been alone since my boyfriend and I had broken up a week and a half earlier. The apartment was empty, and this one room that was painted bright red was sort of staring at me. (Repainting it was my first order of business that week.) I felt...strange. Excited about the new apartment, and the whole starting-over point of my life that I was in: I'd been dating my ex since the start of grad school, pretty much, and we'd spent the previous year living in a city about an hour away from campus. So I was looking forward to starting up my new, independent life. But I also had a weirdly edgy feeling, like the bottom could drop out of my excitement at any moment. I was anxious and wound up and vaguely upset.
And now it's been three years, my ficus is much taller, and the kitchen floor needs to be mopped again. It's been a really good three years. I got to do some things that I'd wanted to try, like hip-hop dance classes and intramural soccer. I made a bunch of new friends right after the break up and sort of drifted away from them within the next year, but my older friendships got stronger and better once I was back in GradCity and on my own. I've spent a lot of time in these rooms, working or messing around or making stuff or just watching TV and eating cookies, very happily alone. And I've also spent a good bit of time missing the (current) boyfriend, who only lived in this town for about 4 months of our relationship.
None of this is very profound. My feelings right now aren't very profound. Mostly I just want to be done with the driving and loading and whatnot, and to actually see my new apartment. This whole radically different new life upon which I'm about to embark is...unsettling, to say the least, but I kind of just want to tackle it, to know that it's not bad and scary and to make it work.
I'll tell you one thing I'll miss, though. I'll miss my yoga studio. I had my last class with my amazing teacher tonight, and it's sad to think that I might never see him again, or hear any more of his habitual, corny little jokes ("The good news is, we're going into the bow posture!" "And if you can't get into a full hanumanasana, don't worry, that just means that you'll never achieve enlightenment. No, I'm kidding. It doesn't matter").
Okay, off for a drink with J. In an air-conditioned bar. Whoo!
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Update
Since too few of you are blogging today to give me a break of sufficient length:
- The back seems to be more or less okay. It's still tender, but a little stretching and a break for lunch + TV helped, and I think I'll make it. Whew!
- I forced Marilla Amaryllis into dormancy today, since she could hardly make the trip in her sprawling, droopy-leafed state. I hope that I didn't kill her. Well, we'll find out in 6-8 weeks.
- There is nothing to eat in this joint but rice cakes. I've eaten like 9 of them today. Thank god I have dinner plans.
- Boy oh boy do I hope that my rental SUV-type-car is big enough for all the crap I'm taking to Field Town. See, I claim that I'm taking "Only the essentials, the bare minimum," but that's a lie. Unless my wooden Buddha statue, Laotian silk bedspread (which tops my orange silk duvet cover--yes, I sleep in glamor), three stuffed animals, and handmade vase count as "essentials." Oh, and let's not forget the old gooseneck lamp that once belonged to my grandfather (he spray-painted it gold, for some reason), a box of incense and candles, extra coffee cups, and all those books that I've been meaning to read for ages. And a stack of framed photographs along with a few pieces of my mom's artwork, my DVDs (in a zippered pouch, at least, and sans boxes), sleeping bag and camping mattress (in case I have guests with whom I'd rather not share my bed, for whatever reason), various yoga supplies, and ALL my clothes. (And dishes and all that stuff, of course!) It's just...I'm ambivalent about this move, and this job--although I'm very happy to HAVE the job, of course--and I feel that I'll need a lot of familiar, happy objects around me. So perhaps these do count as essentials? All the same, I won't be reciting that list for my minimalist ascetic of a boyfriend. Heh.
- I have not showered, and "getting dressed" today meant throwing on a pair of cotton shorts. As in, I'm still wearing my pajama shirt, haven't combed my hair, applied deodorant, or put in my contacts. I
the permissiveness of exceptional states such as moving and finals! Hm--that didn't come out as pithily as I'd hoped. Anyway, said permissiveness also accounts for the lunchtime TV, which is definitely not something I'd normally allow myself.
OW hell
I seem to have pulled something (?) in my back, sort of below the left shoulder blade. Yeah, I just lifted a box of dishes, but seriously I've lifted much heavier things in my day. In the last two days, in fact. Ugh. It feels like the kind of thing that a good stretch and a couple of days should fix, but right now it twinges whenever I move my arm. Convenient.
Didn't Hilaire throw her back out--much worse than this, I believe--right in the middle of moving? The Curse of the Cardboard!
Didn't Hilaire throw her back out--much worse than this, I believe--right in the middle of moving? The Curse of the Cardboard!
News from the Moving Front
So I'm mostly packed, but there's still plenty of stuff kicking around my apartment not knowing what to do with itself. I also need to repot two plants and...oh, what was that other thing? Something else. Then there are the miscellaneous errands: closing down my local video store membership (I want my deposit back!), recycling plastic bags at the grocery store, giving the department secretary my new address, and so forth.
One thing that's been a feature of my last couple of moves is the Destruction of a Large Metal Object. Last time I moved, it was a two-drawer filing cabinet that had become jammed in the process of being moved. I needed to extract all the files from the top drawer, and the only way to do this was to rip the drawer apart with a pair of pliers. Obviously. It was an immensely enjoyable and cathartic experience. This time, I had to tackle a set of window bars (you know, of the thief-deterrent variety). The situation is this: The stairs to my apartment are narrow and winding. My dresser had to come in through the window; it will have to go out through the window. In the time that I lived here, I had some bars installed over my windows (because there's an easily accessible fire escape out there). Boyfriend and I were able to put the bars in in the living room, but the bedroom proved somehow impossible: the wood of the window pane was too hard, or something. So my landlords did it for me, putting the bars in wrong and only getting a couple of screws in, but whatever. Anyway I needed to remove the bars so that the movers will be able to get the dresser out again. (Enjoying this story?) Yesterday I tackled the project with a drill, three screwdrivers, and my trusty pliers--which ended up being the key ingredient, as several of the screws were stripped and I had to pop their heads off by violently wiggling the bars back and forth.
I love doing this kind of thing. It says: I am strong! and self-sufficient! Or perhaps there's just an inherent pleasure in destruction?
Less triumphantly, I had a couple of sad goodbyes yesterday. First I went to see H off on her move; she's actually moving to sort of the same part of the country as I am, but will be 7 hours, instead of 2 blocks, away. It was a tearful affair on both sides. Then I had lunch with my advisor, which was very pleasant, but as we were parting she gave me a hug for the very first time ever, and I realized how much I'm going to miss meeting with her. She taught my first-ever medieval literature course, and I've worked closely with her for five years now (even though there were times, of course, when I went three months or more without seeing her). So that was sad.
And then last night I saw my problematic friend, and it was fine. In fact, I had a nice time. He still complains a lot, but somehow these things are more easily handled in person than via email.
Okay, it's 10:15, and despite my fervent supplications the boxes are not, in fact, packing themselves. And I have three more farewells coming tonight, so I'd better get going.
One thing that's been a feature of my last couple of moves is the Destruction of a Large Metal Object. Last time I moved, it was a two-drawer filing cabinet that had become jammed in the process of being moved. I needed to extract all the files from the top drawer, and the only way to do this was to rip the drawer apart with a pair of pliers. Obviously. It was an immensely enjoyable and cathartic experience. This time, I had to tackle a set of window bars (you know, of the thief-deterrent variety). The situation is this: The stairs to my apartment are narrow and winding. My dresser had to come in through the window; it will have to go out through the window. In the time that I lived here, I had some bars installed over my windows (because there's an easily accessible fire escape out there). Boyfriend and I were able to put the bars in in the living room, but the bedroom proved somehow impossible: the wood of the window pane was too hard, or something. So my landlords did it for me, putting the bars in wrong and only getting a couple of screws in, but whatever. Anyway I needed to remove the bars so that the movers will be able to get the dresser out again. (Enjoying this story?) Yesterday I tackled the project with a drill, three screwdrivers, and my trusty pliers--which ended up being the key ingredient, as several of the screws were stripped and I had to pop their heads off by violently wiggling the bars back and forth.
I love doing this kind of thing. It says: I am strong! and self-sufficient! Or perhaps there's just an inherent pleasure in destruction?
Less triumphantly, I had a couple of sad goodbyes yesterday. First I went to see H off on her move; she's actually moving to sort of the same part of the country as I am, but will be 7 hours, instead of 2 blocks, away. It was a tearful affair on both sides. Then I had lunch with my advisor, which was very pleasant, but as we were parting she gave me a hug for the very first time ever, and I realized how much I'm going to miss meeting with her. She taught my first-ever medieval literature course, and I've worked closely with her for five years now (even though there were times, of course, when I went three months or more without seeing her). So that was sad.
And then last night I saw my problematic friend, and it was fine. In fact, I had a nice time. He still complains a lot, but somehow these things are more easily handled in person than via email.
Okay, it's 10:15, and despite my fervent supplications the boxes are not, in fact, packing themselves. And I have three more farewells coming tonight, so I'd better get going.
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