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Promise. April 17, 2006

Posted by brianna in Verbosity.

Well, I promised I'd write yesterday…but unfortunately WordPress was off sick. So, while it was nice to have a legitimate excuse for not writing, it means I have to smear some words onto paper today, so to speak, and I have nothing in my head!

Case in point, I've been staring at this little white box for a good hour and still have only three sentences written, all of which are complaining about my lack of things to talk about.

My very small room had been grating on me lately. The management has decided that, with the rising temperatures, the grass must be watered a million times a day. For some reason, these sprinklers are aimed across sidewalks and at my door, so not only do I have a three-foot patch of damp carpet /inside/, I can't leave my room if the sprinklers are on, or I'll get soaked. I honestly don't understand the need to water grass at one in the afternoon, but perhaps someone out there just enjoys watching me hover around my front door debating – be late, or put up with damp skirt? These are the difficult choices I face every day.

I am drinking a fancy coffee. Have you ever noticed that bubbles blown in any milk-based beverage look odd and scummy and not at all appetizing? However, I /do/ love the fact that I'm a 'regular' at Ben and Jerry's, where I get my fancy coffee. I walk in, and they already know what I want! If I ask for a small something extra…they don't charge me! As strange as this particular town is, I do enjoy being a bit of a regular in a few places. It makes me miss Bar Harbor.

 Speaking of Bar Harbor, I got my start date for Maine! While it brings on a whole new wave of anxiety, (Oh, goodness. When should I leave, how long will it take for me to get there, I need my car serviced, that will be expensive! I have to pack my car again!), it also brings a nice sense of security and a plesant feeling of anticipation. Bar Harbor is probably the closest to feeling like 'home' for me. Driving in after a winter away is always lovely. Slowly, I start to see the familiar places, can anticipate the road's curves as the asphalt turns from city black to a more rural patchy grey. I pass the round house that tells me it's twenty minutes to the bridge, pass the boarded up employee housing that's still unoccupied, and get my first glimpse of the ocean. A few minutes later I'm parking in the '15 minutes or less' space and slipping into 'my' hotel's lobby, looking for familiar faces.

May is a fussy month in Maine, and I can arrive to weeping rain and endless fog, or hopeful sun and spring flowers. You never know – things won't even out until June, and then you're already so deep into work and the 'Season' that you hardly have a moment to notice the weather save to absently pull on a cap or grab an umbrella as you run out the door on four hours of sleep and the hope of short lines at the coffee shop. Most stores are just waking up – every walk to work reveals a new 'open' sign – some places won't open till nearly July. The 'help wanted' signs pop up overnight, begging people to work with promises of a cash bonus for everyone who stays until October, and I often wish sleep was unneccessary so I could pick up a new shift. On the outside I'm rushing to my second job or rushing home to get some sleep, but inside I'm dancing – the book shop! Is right there! I can walk to it! And the coffee shops I like are open! And there's the store I order my favorite tea from, and the pottery shop people have a new color!

I am so very much looking forward to returning.

Here is usually where I'd launch into a long introspective ramble about belonging or something…but really, all I want is to be back somewhere familiar. I do actually like my job most of the time, and I'm good at my job, which is an unfortunately rare situation. But moving every six months and anticipating winter layoffs every six months is very draining.

I was drawn to the seasonal work for many good reasons – I live in Employee housing with fantastically low rent (I'm low maintenence, the quality of housing has never really bothered me), I like the money I can save and the places I can go and how, by never really comitting to a place, I'm also never comitting to rent and utilities, to property taxes and crime rates. I know I'm leaving, everything is bearable for a few months, and no particular place gets old. I can travel in November because…well, the job is over. There's no complicated days-off request or waiting for vacation time to become avaliable.

But I regret not having a home. I have no furniture, no nice glassware, no forks and knives picked out just by me. I can't paint my walls or buy art or garden. I'm so weary of keeping all my clothes in plastic bins and not buying books because they're heavy and never being able to amass cooking things because I often don't have a kitchen. I cannot invite people over because there is no 'over'. I just want to be able to walk through a door into a place that is my own, to put my keys down on a hallway table and be able to sit on a couch, to be able to see a duvet I like and buy it without mentally fitting it in my car when it's time to leave.

It's such an odd wistfulness…physical aching with mental restlessness, and no way to solve it but by actually /living/ somewhere. But I'm not sure what's stronger – the fear of tying myself to a location or the longing for permanence. The freedom to move with abandon and learn new systems or the wish to be able to make long term plans, knowing where I'll be this winter and the winter after. I honestly have no idea what I'm going to do, but it's coming to a rubbing point and I'm starting to feel that tickle of anxiety that means a coming decision.

Sometimes, I feel grown up, moving on my own and being (mostly) self sufficient…and other times I feel very immature – without furniture, a permanent adress, or a sense of home.

A dilemma.


1. Marjan - April 21, 2006

Thank you Brianna for guidance of fonts . but unfortunatelly I couldn’t get the point . How can I try your formula on top of the post ? which plase exactly ?

2. Amy - April 24, 2006

This has absolutely nothing to do with your post or your blog.
I got here from reading on the Yarn Harlot’s blog about “ts”. You made exactly the same comment I had intended to make! It’s good to know mine isn’t the only obscure mind reading her blog. :)

(No, I’m not insane. It just appears that way.)

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