February 2006 Archives

So... I am in at my new apartment. ...!!! After a long wait in the office and a lot of paperwork, I just got to take a look around my place. My place. I'm still trembly. Opening each door, staring at each open space and shelf... there is so much future in this apartment. Each empty spot is a place where a whole lot of my life is going to occur. I walked around in rapt silence, envisioning in the sunlight the realiziation of my daydreams, hoping that to come next will be as wonderful as the pristine state of the apartment seemed to promise. I imagined color and vivacity.

And anxious. What will transpire here? What if I pick out the wrong furnishings? I don't know what I'm doing! I've never picked out furniture before or decorated a home. What *does* go on those shelves? And is this where I'll really be for seven months? Am I really going to be reimbursed for the money I just shelled out? (I just used my last two checks to make the deposits; paychecks are still sketchy and sparse.) Is this all going to work out? Is everything going to be okay?

With all that's been going on in my life I find myself questioning much more that which I might have been trustingly hopeful about before. And yet here is this great thing--what a dream come true--this lovely apartment, to be paid for by my company! I feel like I dreamed this place into reality; it's hard to conceive it's true now. All these weeks--months?--of imagining this place... I tried not to work it up into more than it is, even with all my jokes about the community glistening and the people living there being so perfect and happy that they must be robotic prototypes. "I may never live anywhere so nice again for the rest of my life!" I'd exclaim with typical hyperbole. But I really do fear that.

Except now, looking at it, I'm afraid I did indeed taint it with my dreams. The pool isn't that large. The fitness center isn't that spacious. My apartment is in one of the less lovely locations and there are an insane number of restrictive rules (and fees) that have to be obeyed. I'm not even sure the apartment is as roomy as my last one, albeit three times more expensive and oozing luxury (psuedo or genuine--how would I know what luxury looks like?). I think I miss my old, aged townhome from before, humble as it was and as ugly golden-green its kitchen. Newness is just scary and exhilerating, I suppose.

Who am I anymore and what are my standards? There have been such extreme contrasts in my life.

I'm just overwhelmed. Wow. This is one of the most amazing things that's ever happened to me, and in contrast to the low this job pulled me from, I am still--after five months--shaking my head in awe and saying this can't be real.

If I don't get into my apartment this weekend, whatever will I do? I'll head to Miami, that's what, in my favorite jeans, my favorite tshirt, and my new adorable years-in-coming All Stars on my feet. I'll put on some music and cruise to a friend in Miami, where the weekend is wide open and all this stuff on my mind is far behind.

(P.S.--I am going to get the key to my apartment today! Who's more excited than I today? I am most appreciative of these blessings and this good turn in my life, which I'm going to exult in as long as they last me. Does life really get this much better and then stay that way? I don't think I can stop fearing a return to the life I had before.)

If I don't get into this apartment this weekend, whatever am I going to do? (Anyone want to come and help me pick out stuff to fill it with? I'm so excited... everything all new! I've never in my whole life had anything like this before!) I'm really serious. One of you should come help me decorate and buy plates and shower curtains and all that stuff. How fun! (I have people in mind, but I'm not naming names.)

However, my boss's signature is needed, and he's off in Germany. I can't get him to say when he's coming back either. This weekend with nothing to do and business slow, seems ideal moving time to me, but maybe I'm just eager. Eager, yes, that I am. This place is a dream come true, and I most sincerely fear I will never live anywhere so nice again. I feel like Cinderella, minus that whole prince bit. But who needs a prince anyway?

Please, you must come visit! Yes, really! You must! I insist!

As the official Labelier (that is, I was the person in charge of getting a label maker, setting up said label maker, and operating it) I have today sliced and diced the instruction manual into four 8.5x11" English-only panels and copied them, making a nice sturdy instruction booklet as opposed to the crinkly, folded, odd-shaped tissue paper one. In addition, I scanned the pages to electronic file, lest we ever lose our print copy and need another. If so, we could just open the file and print. Voilà!

All I have left to do is create a folder for this $30 battery-operated machine, so that I may officially file the new spiffy print copy of the instruction manual (four whopping pages!) and the registration information. (Oh yes, I registered the thing, too!)

I suspect as a Labelier, I cannot be beat.

"How do you want the card to read?" she asked. The call had gone without a hitch to this point, but suddenly there was a pause. I was silent.

The pause grew to be a bit more than a pause, so although I didn't trust myself to speak, I tried to explain. "I've never had to be away from one of them on their birthday before..." It came out through restricted throat, a choked and warbly noise. A mother herself, the florist quickly assured me how much she understood. And just like that, unexpectedly, tears filled my eyes. They ran down my cheeks as I tried to instruct her to write that which I should have been writing with my own hand and delivering with hugs: Happy birthday! I wish I could be there. All my love, Mom

It isn't eloquent, but it was the overwhelming emotion. Have I become one of those parents who glibly sends wishes with money instead of their presence? My god, I'd have given anything to be there! If only my boss hadn't changed the travel rules on me, if only he hadn't left town so that I had to be here to run the office! I don't know which is dopier--the fact that I'm simply sending her flowers rather than being there for her, or the fact that I'm going to spend so much time today and tomorrow crying about it.

I really ought to thank my mother once more for my iPod. I love that thing. Last night, for example, I was forced by near complete lack of food to go to the store after work. After a ten hour work day and the usual sleep deprivation I don't much feel like going shopping. This store, in particular, had annoyed each time I had visited it prior. I always left in a sour mood. I was not really looking forward to this additional time walking in heels.

I pulled into the parking lot, sighed, and started to put my iPod away as I always do. Primarily, it stays in the car where it is most needed (to combat the hideous radio stations we have down here). However, the light bulb went on over my head: "Hey! I can take it with me!" iPod, you're coming with me!

Wow, was my trip to the store ever peachy. As I bopped and hummed up and down the aisles, I was having such a grand time I realized my "one grocery bag" limit I had placed to make the trip seem more bearable was going to be extended. "Why, I could stay in here all day!", I thought. I swear, items were not as hidden and scattered about the store as usual, and everyone I encountered was happier and friendlier. (Note: I wasn't *really* dancing and humming. In fact, I'm sure it was so subtle no one noticed.)

The phenomenon that is iPod--specifically, my owning one--never ceases to amaze me. "Oh! Another good song?" I'd think to myself in surprise, or "Yes, yes! Good song choice, my iPod. How did you know?" Perfect. Song after good song, piped right into my ears--how fantastic is that? As I said before, the iPod puts the world on my terms.

P.S.--Just because I don't post names on this blog, do not think that my iPod and I are on such terms that don't refer to each other by name! It is not just "my iPod". Hmph.