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{ Photo of the Day }

, originally uploaded by Emily Kaatherine.

{ Photo of the Day }

, originally uploaded by Emily Kaatherine.

As I Write This, A Train's Horn Echoes In The Distance

Random, incomplete thoughts in no coherent order:

My internet here is slow. So slow. Like, sometimes not able to watch Hulu TV shows slow.

I love my job. I am also determined not to define myself by my job. Thus, end of jobspeak.

I live with two people. I made an effort to say hello to them when I moved in last weekend. I saw the girl on Friday morning as I made my lunch, and I haven't seen the guy since I moved in. I feel like I'm living alone. Not sure if that's good or bad.

I completely stopped my 365 project. I feel guilty about that. And would like to note that I am usually pretty good with commitment. Starting up 365 project again. Tomorrow. Whoa. #OnTheSpotDecisionMaking

My bedroom window faces the west. In a few weeks, I will be able to see the sunset each night. This makes me happier than I ever expected.

I'm looking forward to when every. single. moment. of. every. single. day. no longer feels brand new. And I'm looking forward to when I finally figure out the best shortcut through the metro parking garage.

I keep writing long, detailed, analytic (boring) posts about this New Beginning in my life and then deleting them. I never figure out why I hit the delete button, because my analytic energy is sapped by the time I do. Breaking the cycle now by not analyzing and not deleting. (My apologies?)

I'm working towards getting this space back to at least semi-coherent writing. (Read: I'm adjusting to a new schedule (and everything else...) and my words are feeling a lot like I do at the start of new situations: unsure, hesitant, and so very quiet. Give them some time, and they'll warm up...)

I hope you all had really great weekends. Will you tell me a little about yours? I'd love to hear.

{ Photo of the Day }

, originally uploaded by Emily Kaatherine.

In Which I Ask For Advice

I packed up my things in my CRV, and if it didn't fit, I didn't bring it.

This means I'm sans television and I'm not sure how I feel about that. I'm also not sure we have cable in the apartment - my roommate says no, but I have about three cable cords in my room, which makes me think that the guy living here before was watching TV. And I think the roommate (who is thus non-existent and handles the cable bill) has a TV in her basement lair suite. REGARDLESS, not having television could be a great thing - it won't be a time suck and I can watch shows on my own time on the internet.  But I also know that television dulls loneliness and I could use some of that right now.  (Did I mention my roommates are practically non-existent?) I've gone without television for months before, so I don't think it would be a huge shock to my system. But I'm also not one to waste a lot of time in front of a TV, so not having one is a bit of a drastic measure to avoid wasting time. And it is nice to put it on in the background and/or get lost in it after a long day. Do you have any thoughts on TV v. No TV?

This also means that I don't have any "real" furniture. I'm sleeping on an Areobed. It's higher than a normal air mattress, and so far it has been fine (advantage of being tiny!), but I want to ask your opinion. Do you guys have experience sleeping on air mattress long-term? How long can I go before I have to cave in and buy a bed? (Please say at least six months...) Also, I thought I would have to buy plastic drawers to store my clothing, but so far I seem to have enough room (read: I have two closets!). But - any thoughts on great ways to store clothing that doesn't involve heavy furniture (in the event that I do need more storage space)?

From the Department of I Can Do This

[Note: I am very exited and happy to be starting this "next chapter"; regardless, I really hate goodbyes.]

He ties the canvas roof carrier on tightly enough to make it to my mom's, but not so tightly that I can't undo it myself.  At the end of the day, I untie, stuff the carrier, re-tie, if only so easy. I'm hours behind my carefully planned schedule (why do I even bother?), perched on a stepladder, one foot on the car seat and a toe on the top rung for balance. The dim garage light casts only shadows. I can't see the knots I'm untying. She's behind me in case I fall. I wonder who will catch me on the other end of the move.  Without his wind chapped hands, the step ladder from my grandfather's garage, her hands lifted up, just in case. I suck in a mouthful of cold air and pretend it is a deep breath. Repeat over and over again: "I can do this." and "This is good." It doesn’t make me feel better, but it keeps my mind focused, so my hands can stay busy.

Finish what must get done.  Find my empty bed through tired eyes.  Crawl into my sleeping bag and put my head on the pillow.  Close my eyes to find the familiar, but realize that despite the empty room, this is the familiar. Count to twenty over and over again coaxing sleep. Tense every muscle in my body tighter, tighter, and let them go. 1, 2, 3… Open the blinds up so I can fall asleep under the watch of the moon the same way I did when I was a teenager and didn’t trust the morning to arrive. Tell myself that the moon will still be there 300 miles south. I can do this. This is good. Tighten, release. 1, 2, 3… sleep overtakes.

The morning light makes everything better, except the goodbyes.  I'm on my knees trying to scoop her into my lap, but she isn't having it.  She's on her hind legs with her paws on my shoulders. Her soft tongue against my cheek. She hugs and kisses at the same time and I don’t let myself worry if this means she’s not properly trained. She's saying hello and I'm saying goodbye... It turns out that she's the easiest goodbye of the morning.

The road is empty. Intentional timing, unintentional loneliness. Pop in old CDs and sing for no one. Sink into familiar notes and the hallow feeling in my stomach. Promise myself not to cry through every state.  I keep a watchful eye on the rear view mirror and concoct disaster plans to implement when I see my clothes flying out of the canvas roof carrier and sprawled on the side of the interstate.  A blue sweater clinging to the antenna of the car behind me.  A disproportionate flag and pole. Unnecessary worry - I finally decide mid-way through PA, as I pull into a rest stop.

Walk into the bathroom to see a mother hugging her daughter. It comes in waves, homesickness.  This I remember as suddenly as I'm engulfed. I'm frozen for a second, my eyes locked on their embrace, my breath held. I know what will come with release and dart into the first stall.  The dam breaks.  The toilet paper's rough across my eyes. I stifle a sob, disguising it as a squeaky hiccup but wait until the toilet in the stall next to me has flushed and the sink water has run its course. Come out with tear stained eyes, but you can’t tell unless you look at me directly. Divert my eyes from the restroom mirror and keep my head down through the parking lot. Wonder if the cold wind could carry the blame, but climb into my car and let my shoulders heave and the tears fall. Plump, noiseless drops, I just have to wait for them to pass. And they do.

Pennsylvania seems to never end, but delivers a burning sunset to the west.  I greet Maryland in the dark, but my life feels bright.

I have to follow the directions, word for word, to get to my new apartment. I surprise myself by not getting lost.  And pull in to the welcome of my kind landlord and an offer to help that I refuse.  Untie the canvas roof carrier in the dark without falling.  Carry almost everything upstairs and chug two bottles of water. Find my floor lamp and declare, "Let there be light!" to the darkness, but not loudly enough for my new roommates to hear. Inflate my bed and locate my bedding. Thoughts come only in segments. Locate toothbrush and pajamas. Fall into bed.

My landlord calls to check in on me as I'm crawling under the covers. In an effort to hide my exhaustion, I answer with too much bounce to my voice.  I say hello, he says hello, and then I ask him, “How is it?” A question that makes absolutely no sense and leaves me wondering which words I actually wanted to use. He glides by my exhausted nonsense and asks me how everything is going. I tell him "It's great!" "Perfect!" and refrain from asking him to come back and give me a hug.

They can say how much they love me over the phone, that they’re proud of me, but nobody saw the seventeen knots I untied to get the carrier down or the way I moved my entire car’s contents inside in under thirty minutes. That I was the only one standing outside in the dark and I didn’t recognize the faces up the stairs and behind the door. It has been years since everything has been so unfamiliar. If he could just come back, maybe he could wipe away all this unknown...

I fall asleep in the dark, not even bothering to look for the moon.

{ Photo of the Day }

, originally uploaded by Emily Kaatherine.

...And Goes...

The hallway is lined with bags of clothing I am giving away.  Sweatshirts I've lived in and jeans soft in all the best places.  Faded and worn and well loved.  Washed one last time, folded up, stacked and bagged.  A love affair to remember.  Sweaters that don't hug as tightly as they once did and skirts that have grown tired of my body.  Dresses shrunk to my size but with straps that slip off my shoulders and hems that hit too high, too low.  I am their afterthought - a halfhearted second chance. 

I have been holding on too long.

I tell her I don't want to throw away what I have.  What if, what if, what if... this is the best I'll ever have?  She says to ask myself: "Do they enrich my life?"  And reminds me that my old and tired and misfit could be someone else's lifeline.  Someone else's everything.  I think of those I can't love anymore and those I never loved enough.  And second chances. For all of us.  If I let go...

I pack them up and bid them farewell.

Snow Day and Wood Floor Revival

Oh, man.  A snow day like none other.  I spent half the day texting my brother photos of the sheer chaos that took place at home today.  I thought I'd post some of the photos here, because it's a day I probably won't forget for a while. 

[Note: I use the phrase "photos" loosely.  "Texting photos" means that I took them with my phone.  Which is not an iphone.  Or a blackberry.  Or an Andriod.  Or even a real phone according to most people.  It's an old-school cell phone that looks like a gameboy.  I kinda love it. But let's just say that you can probably see why I bring my actual camera with me all the time.]

Remember when I told you I was channeling my inner 15 year old the day the guy came to give an estimate on re-doing the floors?  And that my mom is in the process of putting the house on the market and moving? Well...

They started the floors yesterday.  Which means putting alllll of the furniture etc in the basement.  And not having any real access to the portions of the house we use the most - namely, the kitchen.  They were supposed to finish today.  Except.  Mother nature dumped over two feet of snow on us. Excellent.  So, snowed in and confined, our day looked something like this:

Our foyer now holds the stove, the fridge (plugged into the bathroom!), packing materials, and my new bed (yup, more to come on that another time...), and the dog's toys.  Necessities, obviously.

I made coffee in the master bathroom.  This is a tribute to my love of coffee.  Obviously. 

In other bathroom related news, my mom was moving containers (see photo one) downstairs when she found a small waterfall coming down from the ceiling.  Directly onto the furniture the floor guys moved down there yesterday.  Great. Turns out the toilet tank (as opposed to bowl) spout thing came out again (or something) soaking the bathroom floor and sending water through the floor.  My mom and I decided this was not normal.  And promptly called the plumber. And moved the furniture. And dug through boxes to find old towels.  And old tupperware. The plumber never called back - maybe something to do with the 2 feet of snow? But the water did stop.

We persevered.  And packed all day.  Putting the boxes in the most logical place - in the hallway, between the stove and the fridge, which is plugged into the bathroom.  

And made lunch. 

(We were told we could walk on the floors mid-morning. I don't know if they would have approved the microwave. My mom and I are rebels like that.)

We took turns shoveling the driveway, until the kind neighbor came to visit with his snow blower.

Upon which I said thank you so many times that he turned to me and said "it's alright" and laughed. 

(I may or may not be terrible at accepting help.)

And when he left, I ran into the front yard and threw myself (literally) into the 2+ feet of snow and squealed.  And looked up at the house I spent part of my childhood in, for possibly the last time.  

(I leave on Sunday.  The house goes on the market Monday.)  And made a snow angel for absolutely not the last time.

We still have a lot of digging out to do.  And I can only imagine the chaos that will ensue as the week progresses.  But the floors are looking good!

If you had a snow day today, I hope it was filled with cozy warmth and flake-filled joy.  

Even if it was just for a few moments amid this crazy, hectic life...

And So It Goes...

Packing.
Pulling out memories. 
Putting things in boxes.

Lives lived.
Lives hoped for.
Lives past. 

All mine.
Somehow.
Days gone by.
Or never arrived.

Craigslist Lessons Learned (Or Things I Already Knew)

On trying to find a room/apartment/roommates in less than twenty four hours in a very new place:

• Don't email the wife of a man in West Africa (on a "crusade") even if she is in the US.  Refrain from asking him how that long distance relationship is working out for him.
  
• If you email a landlord (who lives in the apartment) to ask if everyone is in their twenties, be clear that "everyone" includes the landlord.
• When above landlord answers the door and is sixty-something (NOT twenty-something), turn around and run.
• When above landlord shows you the bare rooms (with the exception of a blanket, pillow and single suitcase) of three twenty-something international women, turn around and run.
• When above landlord tells you he only rents to young women, turn around and run.
• When above landlord refers to himself as "Papa" while explaining to you why all women hate men, turn around and run. (Why did you wait so long?!)
• When the house of all twenty-something ladies (who have already sold you on how awesome it will be to live with them) doesn't even let you in to see the house because they chose someone else twenty minutes ago, do not respond with "OK, thanks!"  It is not okay (hello, panic) and you are not appreciative.
  
• Or, say thank you, but not to them.  Be grateful that you didn't get to see the apartment, because the next one will be even better.
• Do say thank you at least seventeen times to the kind man at CVS who drew you a map and refrained from saying "Wow, you are really, really lost" until he knew you would not take offense to it.  (Welcome to my life, sir.)
  
• Showing up to see a room/apartment only to find it entirely dark does not mean the world is over.
• Clear out your cell's voicemail box before traveling 300 miles south to look at places. (You should already know this!)
• Showing up to an entirely dark apartment to meet a landlord that you could hardly understand over his scratchy cell reception, does not mean he is a potential serial killer. (Or it might, but whatever.)
  
• In fact, it actually means he thought you were a flake for having a full voicemail box and would not be showing up.  He's not a likely serial killer. (But you might be a bit of a flake sometimes.)
• But when he shows up, leave the front door wide open so your mom can hear you blow the whistle on your keys should you need to.
• When landlord asks if you would like to invite whoever is waiting in the car for you in to see the apartment (after you have already fallen in love with it), say yes.
• Having your mom see the apartment (and approve!) is pretty much as reassuring at twenty seven as it is at twenty one. 
• Finding a place to live that fits both your budget and what you imagine your new life will look like is even more exciting and exhausting than you expected.
• You can celebrate new found room/apartment/roommates with a Starbucks latte at 9:30pm and still be asleep be asleep by 10:30pm. (You should already know this!)

{ Photo of the Day }

, originally uploaded by Emily Kaatherine.

An Open Love Letter To Two Thousand Eleven

Dear Two Thousand Eleven,

I think I am head-over-heels in love with you already.  (Is it too soon?) You put a smile on my face as I fall asleep at night, and I wake up to a mix of excitement and security.  How did you know that you're exactly what I needed?  How did you know to show up exactly when I needed you, when I was nearly ready to submit to permanent cynicism and pessimism?  When I couldn't hold on to life-as-I-knew-it for a single second longer? You've offered me a new beginning, and I find myself trusting you, despite my baggage from other years. You're magnetic and electric, full of promises.  I've only known you for a few days, but already I can't imagine my days without you.  I can't imagine my future without you.  I've never felt this way about a year before. Perhaps this is too soon, but I think I'm in with love you. 

Still, I'm scared to trust you. I've been disappointed by past years. But my heart outweighs my logic and my hand is now in yours. I've learned from my past years, and although I've let my past experiences go, I still hold tightly the lessons learned.  I won't follow you blindly.  We need to walk together.  You swept me off my feet when I needed you most, but my feet do still work and I can still walk. I won't get lost in you and I won't let you define me.  I know, I know, you have no intentions of doing any such thing, which makes me love you even more.  But I need you to know that I've worked hard to be the person you love (do you love me the way I love you?) and it's important that I don't lose who I am.  Who I have worked hard to become.  You may promise me shiny things, but I will always love more the things we make together - the things that come naturally and the things that we have to work hard for.  I have goals and dreams for my life that I have worked towards long before I knew you, and I won't give those up.  I don't think you're asking that of me.  And I love you for that, too.

I am so happy you have come into my life and I am so excited for all of our days ahead. 

Sincerely yours with love,
Emily