Peace Has Got to Be in One of These Boxes...

I moved into a new apartment on the 30th of December. Somehow I made it through packing, cleaning and several round-trips up and down stairs thanks to a three-week break and friends and family. 'Twas worth fulfilling my poetic idea of having a new place for the new year.

Now I've hit that tiring stage of unpacking where I realize one very important thing: I have too much stuff. I haven't tallied up the rat-packing damage but confessing I have 52 pairs of shoes alarms me. Something seems so wrong about having so much. I feel like a hoarder and restless. While this realization may put a slight damper on my shiny new ideal from the first paragraph, it also means it's a perfect time to de-clutter. The year still has that brand-new smell, no? 

The more I process, the more a nagging feeling tells me this also applies to people. (Oh, over-thinking mind of mine, when will you rest?) Not in an angry "GO TO HELL, I DON'T NEED YOU!" way, but in a bittersweet awareness that we've simply fulfilled our roles for each other and it's time to move on. Maybe I'm the one in someone's storage or "Give Away" box.

I'll keep rummaging through and purging boxes to try to settle my place and soul. I create attachments easily so this will be challenging. Knowing myself some things will be stored for a possible second chance, others released into the wide world of donations. Perhaps that'll happen with some people too. Whichever I'm letting go of, or if I'm the one being let go, I will remind myself that it will all be OK.

Blogger, We Need to Talk

I miss blogging.

During the past few months I've had a few topics in mind but they never even made it onto a text box. They ranged from the whimsical to the serious to the crazy. Sounds as bipolar as I'm feeling.

Blogging is partially an exercise in confidence. Being vulnerable was once easier for me and this was a good way to practice. Coming back and typing whatever has been a bit difficult. It's getting cold and I don't feel like doing a proverbial thought strip.

Thing is, it would be freeing, even if no one is looking.

Why (I) Write

Writer's block hits and you think, "Oh, I'll write later." Later, later, always later. But later never comes before you realize a million thoughts have passed you by the same way fireflies come and fade into the night.

We write because it's good for our souls. Because, even if you don't like it at first the same way you disliked your mother's vegetable soup, it turned to something you craved in the coldest days. Because sometimes the pen is mightier than the sword and the only thing that will keep thoughts from escaping or devouring you is to take aim and a good swing. Because there are a little million word combinations to unlock our minds so others can take a glimpse at the mysteries we are.

Whatever, wherever, whyever, write. Simply because you are.

I Bumped Into Death at the Farmers Market

While at Farmers Market I walked past a baklava stand on my left and a cluster of people to my right: a man, a woman and a college-age girl. Precisely at that moment the girl, phone pressed to her ear, head slightly down to try to hear better, gasped, "Oh my gosh! My mom just died."

That is one overheard conversation that definitely stands out. I kept walking but turned and watched the next few frames: the girl covering her mouth in shock, her rapid walk/exit from the market and across the creek, the man and woman's concerned expressions, the baklava vendor calling after her (she probably knew them). All this in just slightly surreal seconds.

I reached a different stand near the market exit, bought tomatoes and crossed the creek back to my car. The girl sat on the opposite bank, sobbing, phone still pressed to her ear. The man and woman were there, holding and trying to comfort her.

I tried to not stare as I got closer. I wanted to say something even though I was a stranger with no obligations. But something about being human connects you even when you are not involved or lack the same experience. I also felt a bit like George, the main reaper in "Dead Like Me." I didn't bring death with a touch and Post-It Note but did indirectly "witness" a stranger's death. It's a little disconcerting to casually see death's ripple effect.

What feels even weirder is the privacy of the actual event. It's not like it was an accident at a public place, complete with some chaos, screams and headlines. No. This was a "where" and "what" no one but people directly affected knew about, hinted at only by a brisk walk, a gasp and quiet sobs. I simply was a bystander who randomly peeked into someone's world at an odd place and time.

Yellow Pill vs. Green Pill

So. I've got choices regarding jobs. Quite the turnaround from my last blog. It feels good to have choices but I dislike having to choose in situations like this. Happiness vs. money/benefits is no joke.

Here are my choices. Both of them are, at this time, almost a guarantee.

Job 1: Baker's assistant at UNL. The company caters to frats and sororities and works during the school year. Training starts August 8.

PROS

1) Holidays AND summer vacation

2) It's not minimum wage: $9/hr

3) Enough people interaction to keep me happy but not overwhelmed (hopefully)

4) It deals with food, something near and dear to me

5) Gain/perfect interesting and practical skills

6) It's in town

7) Schedule allows me to continue freelance design

CONS

1) No benefits

2) Not sure how much growing I can do within this job

3) Close but not quite full time

NOTE: I'll have what I need money-wise, despite little wiggle-room. I like taking care of people and this would allow me to do so indirectly. I'm already pretty excited about this; oh, I get three chef coats. :-P

Job 2: Not sure on title but it's for a nutritional supply store. I would take inventory, place and help ship orders, label things.

PROS

1) Definitely not minimum wage: $15/hr

2) Benefits after a few months

3) Full time

4) Easy, as it is a routine

CONS

1) Four employees total

2) I'm in a small warehouse most of the time

3) It's in Syracuse, so one hour roundtrip

4) Sounds monotone, despite having to multitask

5) No growing opportunity

NOTE: I'm not money-driven, but a nice cash flow might allow me to do things that make me happy, such as traveling and going out, maybe even supporting a good cause. But is daily monotony worth it?

This might be a no-brainer. So, why is it so hard?

His Eye is on the Gecko

I called mom earlier today and she gave me some rather unexpected news: Al, the gecko that went AWOL last year, reappeared. He was beneath the boiler in our basement, warm and well-fed on wild crickets. (If you missed this, you can read it here.)

Call it miracle or coincidence, but it's a breath on fresh air as I feel polluted by discouragement. Mom wanted to save the events for my next visit but she felt I need them now: Now that I'm wondering how I'll pay August rent; now that I have been almost two months unemployed; now that I haven't had much freelance going. I have savings (I am trying to not touch that money) but I'm seriously considering returning home.

I don't know where you are with God, or if you even believe in Him, but little things like the above make feel that I will somehow be fine and Someone will take care of me. Maybe not in my beloved Lincoln (I've got to get used to the idea) but fine and in one piece.

I'm still waiting for instructions. For now though, I'll do my best to sit still.

The Beatles Were Right

You can't buy love. Even with cupcakes. Silly me.