April 11, 2017

April was an incredibly hectic and wonderful crazy time, and I have just stumbled across an old entry I had been unable to publish. Here it is.

Sometimes the friend you need is a laptop.

In light of recent events (the new job coming next month, the search for a new apartment, and as such the all-around change of lifestyle), I can’t help but reminisce about the latest few moves. I remember how immensely shitty it was being in North Conway with quickly-dwindling funds, only left over from my tax returns, being held captive in such a tiny motel room. The worst part? No doubt, hands down, the loneliness. My mother was with me at the time, and looking back now, we allow ourselves to romanticize the situation and downplay the misery, but at the end of the day, I can’t help but remember how painful it was being so far away from my friends and loved ones.

Not to mention, I had been in a managerial position so I was forbidden to make friends at work, and it was North Conway, New Hampshire, so if I were to somehow luck out and meet someone somewhere else, chances were? They were just visiting. Maybe even spoke a language I didn’t understand.

Clearly there are differences here.

For starters I will be moving to Biddeford (fingers crossed, anyway) by myself. And as strange as it may sound, being lonely by yourself is much more reasonable, even expected, as opposed to experiencing loneliness whilst in the company of other(s). In addition, I will only really be alone until August or so, a mere few months instead of a year. At this point B will be taking the plunge and moving in with me. I will certainly not be in any way management here at the new job, so there goes the whole alienation from co-workers process, and of course, let’s not forget the fact that my new boss will be one of my oldest and dearest friends and confidants, K. She is magnificent and her husband is a well-matched partner in crime, so if I really do get in a lonely fix, I will at least be able to schedule a coffee or local draught with them every once in awhile. I do have a car, as well, so, provided Pip doesn’t “shit the bed”, I will, in desperation, have the option of driving up to Lewiston to, say, my incredible sister and her wonderful husband. (The infinite cure-all; my sister and brother-in-law.)

And although I will be shaking money out of my tax returns once again for this move (happens every year), I shall not be in such harsh financial territory. With only a 17-20 minute drive separating me from T (the new jobby), and most other things quite within walking distance, I do believe I should be able to pull myself up and out of whatever financial terrors that are sure to follow the move.

I think that perhaps, as long as I bring my laptop, phone, my books, some paper and pens I should be able to keep myself from becoming entirely lonesome throughout the duration. And as long as I bring only enough things and not too many, I should be able to busy myself by arranging and rearranging said things in a new spot (this always seems to work, I am not completely certain why). I will simply have to focus on being calm, quiet and safe whilst in this new spot (physically, emotionally, mentally). And hopefully I will recognize the need for companionship and make a phone call before I find myself crying into my cup at the local coffee shop.

And Suddenly, I Was There

I have officially been at my new job (T) for 2 months, my new apartment for 1.5 (moved on Mother's Day again...) and I just bought my new whip! He is a black Fiat 500 whose name is either Jack or Jasper. Can't quite decide. Not to mention he is only my second car ever and my first that I have bought through a dealership, which has been an exciting heart attack in and of itself.

Turns out no matter how good your credit is, you are still entirely a no-good scamp if your job is not at least 90 days old. No matter! It all worked out and I will do my best to prove that they have not made an enormous mistake.

Once I get over the 90 day hump and pay off a bit more of my car, I'm certain things will really start looking up, credit-wise. I would like to keep the security of optional loans open to my future self. Pip, my old car, is still so very dear to my heart and in great driving condition, so I offered her to my sister and husband as a secondary ride, to which she said "perhaps you should sell it". Turns out there are plenty of people who are in the market for a little monster (Pip's a big Gaga fan) for their first car. The first day I bought Jasper I heard tell of a young man in my home town who may have interest, and the second day - today - I heard of more people at work! I'm glad people are interested, and it would feel really great to help someone get their first car, but I will certainly miss her. I bonded with her for three years. That's longer than any of my relationships. Cars and sentiment of them aside!

This whole living-in-a-new-city thing is not at all what I had pictured; I had forgotten to take into account the hours I would be working while living down here. Other than this current week, my day off per week average has been two while my daily hours clock in around 10 (2-12). That's fifty hours a week. Which, I'm sure, plenty of people do, however I was not at all ready. I had become accustomed to an average of four days a week, each swimming gracefully around 6 hours. Yes, of course, there are pluses and minuses to both scenarios, and as this current job is seasonal I should certainly be soaking up all the hours and shifts my body can possibly take (I love saving money)! However, my body simply cannot take so much abuse as I would like it to, as I get sick without the recommended amount of sleep. As was evidenced by the fever I was so fortunate to experience one of my first weeks down here. I had pushed myself too far. Perhaps not too far for everyone, or even most people. But too far for me and my old, anemic, hypoglycemic body. 

This is turning out to be the longest and least entertaining blog thus far. Perhaps ever. Bear with me, imaginary audience, as filling this page with excruciatingly boring details of my life is sure to be quite therapeutic for me. And I need therapeutic, after physically shocking my body (at a late-ish age), and mentally; going from living with someone you talk to all the time about everything (my mother) and filling even your short work days with friends you have known long enough for them to love you and being within reasonable driving distance from your big sis to living in an apartment all by yourself, in which you try your best to not exist or make a mark as you arrive there so late, and the only people you know/love/care about are either at work - the exhaustion station - or what feels like forever away. No regrets, but geez Louise. If there ever was a time to give me a break? It's now. Not that I'm asking for special favors and/or attention; I've done this to myself and I have had it pretty good so far. The point of this paragraph is that I'm not exactly adventuring this new city I've been blessed with as I thought I would, so I'm slowly attempting to make up for lost time. 

This place is much more fun for me in the day time. It loses its sense of city and danger and trades it for that of a friendlier, fun atmosphere - albeit, still not without it's cool edge. Ergo, whenever I have had to wake up early (car appointments, phone calls, generally taking care of business) I have made it a point to enjoy something solo. So far I have hit up a sick cafe and an adorable donut shop. Which, having typed it out, hopefully isn't the highlight of this entry, but most likely will be. 

I have also started writing again. Which is doubtlessly the MOST thrilling thing that I have done for myself since undertaking this fascinating transformation. Whether it's blogging, writing in my journal about my day or creating a new spooky short story for my sister's local paper (which naturally is the most rewarding, as it involves my sis). I really would love to get all of my paintings somewhere else to clear my creative head space and just focus on this writing thing for a while... We'll see.

Caution be Damned!

My caution has successfully been thrown to the wind!

There is a change in my future. I am taking the job at T for K, moving to somewhere an hour away from where I currently reside and I could not be more excited! All it took was a conversation with K. Suddenly everything feels a little less heavy. I feel as though I could do some good work for someone I so immensely care about. I have applied today to two different housing locations (rental property) and may even have a back up plan at said restaurant, my tax returns have been returned and my car will have a brandy-new inspection sticker on her as of next month.

The job starts in early May, so this will give me a proper month to get my ducks in a row, head out of my current job spot (let's call it "M") and housing situation and into the new ones. My last day at M will be on my birthday, the 27th of April. This will be choice as it will give me the last bits of April and the beginning bits of May to finalize anything that I would not have been able to without the time off. There is so much that can be done throughout the duration of a work week; packing/selling/cleaning etc... However, as with TAXES (see blog: "TAXES 2017" for reference), there always seems to be that one bloody last thing that you just can't seem to accomplish unless you have a complete day - or two - free of work. And those days off had better not fall on a Saturday, Sunday, or holiday weekend or you may as well not even have them.

K has been my main source of support through this specifically, of course, but my incredible sister who, somehow, is in a state of continual pride of whatever I am doing, stays behind me the entire way. My mother was wonderfully understanding of me moving out/leaving her to nest-tending and my boyfriend has been nothing short of terrific. L, yet another killer friend of mine (at least a triple-threat) has recently moved south as well, and as such will be about 20-30 minutes away from the new rental property, should I score it.

This is more support than I think I have ever gotten for one specific move. I can't help but feel a little optimistic.

March 2017

An opportunity has fallen into my lap.

I really have never had something come to me so easily. This is the sort of thing you only see in the films and read in the books. Everything has been going swimmingly and normally, I must confess, I have found myself to be the one to not rock the boat. (If it ain't broke...) However! This seems nearly too good to be true. There is something new I could be learning in the job front, a new place I could be living with my wonderful beau, chances I haven't had in the recent past to make a little more money, and as such go travelling, perhaps. And I would be getting the winter all to myself to either piss away whatever savings I had disciplined myself to throughout the warmer months, or pick up a little seasonal work at some retail establishment.

One of my absolute dearest friends has just become the manager of a very prestigious seasonal restaurant. Her name is K, the restaurant's is T. T is about an hour's haul away from my current place of business, which, in turn, is about 20 minutes from my home.

The only reason why I am writing this instead of immediately packing my bags is that I find myself nearly paralyzed with fear. New things don't scare me as much as I feel they should, being a Taurus, I typically find the good easier than the bad in the big picture and am in a constant state of attempting to better my ability to adapt (constant vs. adapt. Hilarious). No, it's not change that I find myself paralyzed from, but fear of inadequacy. I am an unfortunate-looking man on the first date with a goddess. More specifically, after not being on a date for a string of months.

You see, I am not entirely self-loathing, nor am I completely insecure. I get anxious over things that I most likely shouldn't and I have a temper, but after you factor that in, the rest is pretty minute (I'm not even going to begin to calculate physical misfortunes, as that is every one's burden, and, as such, a given). However, I cannot seem to deny the fact that I have never actually worked for a restaurant quite so prestigious.

This is not a shot at any other place I have ever been employed at as a server/bartender. And even if it was, certainly not a shot at my current place of business, as it is the coolest place I have ever worked. I have never been so excited to clock in, so happy to see any/all of my co-workers (management included), so okay with having a few slow days because, hey, I work here! All I am trying to convey is this;

There is quite clearly a difference between a small, locally-owned restaurant with a staff of six and a seasonal establishment on the water that serves multiple $20 beverages to any given patron on any given Wednesday,

Clearly there is going to be a shift in expectation.

How many wines, champagnes and cocktails will I be expected to not only remember, but speak to? I always try my best and work to excel at my job, but there is, of course, only so much I can do. There is a limit. No matter how much heart, soul and willingness. I don't know that I will be good enough, and I need to not disappoint my incredible friend and make this move to find out I am complete shit at something I want to be so successful at. And, of course, the ever-present fear of "no takesies-backsies" is not making it any easier on me. What will I be able to come back to if I do fail?

But I also cannot be afraid only to stay afraid. That is not healthy for me because it is not who I am. Especially since we are, after all, essentially talking about a change of scenery and not sky-diving. I wouldn't die any easier doing this new thing than I would doing the same thing I have been doing. And I am ever-curious. Regardless of the outcome, this experience will be an experience and I will learn something, grow in a way, and better myself somehow.

I already know how to do what I've been doing. Perhaps it's time I try something new.

This Day

Just when you thought you had sorrowfully graduated to adulthood. Just when you thought you had grown out of simple pleasures. Just when you thought your glory days were behind you.

You have a day like this.

Your eyes lazily, yet soberly open to sunshine streaming in from the window. The light isn't aggressive, just calmly hanging there, awaiting your rise and that sweet, faint smell is recognizable, but not tired, just beautifully familiar. No work; the morning and the day is yours - a factor which, although not necessary, I find to be quite conducive to the art of appreciation. A day where everything's there, and even if it isn't, you have somehow been given the tools to make it so.

You're inside, you're outside, what difference does it make? Just knowing that the weather's getting better is enough to make you feel as though you've gotten a serotonin shot straight the face.

Food tastes better; fuller, music has an added dimension, you run into a friend and feel like squeezing them in a hug so tight they may find it difficult to breathe. Whatever you do or do not accomplish on this day, by the end of it you'll still find yourself glad you had it.

This day is a feeling. And it has revived me.

Blogging

'So this is how one starts a blog of their own,' I thought, as I pasted and published one old document of random personal thought and one more recent on a subject more accessible.

I have always wondered how people could do this to themselves. The ongoing joke of "that friend you know who blogs" would certainly be enough to deter the average Joe from doing so/being that guy. Unfortunately, as everyday as my days seem, I am not as strong or clever as the average Joe.

Enter my first blog, and with it, my first few entries.

Day one of doing this and already I've racked the number up to three. My third post. Why have I started this? Do I hope someone will read it? I'm not even sure how that would happen. I, for one, have never found myself in the mood to search - local or otherwise - websites for random blog entries. I suppose this is why that friend we know who blogs won't shut up about it. Because they can't! They couldn't afford to. No one would read it if they ceased bringing it up at dinner parties/ coffee dates/ doctor's appointments.

Of course, that's not to say that once mentioned, we will read the damned thing. I know I can't recall the last one I set eyes on. Perhaps this is an ancient form of entertainment already. Have I missed the bus? Am I becoming part of some anonymous time capsule? One that was buried in the backyard and marked only to be forgotten about once the family picks up and moves to North Dakota for that job promotion? I suppose there's only one way to find out. I could ask Google, but I assume all I would find are old opinions on old anonymous blogs by bloggers I would never give a flying hoot about. Let alone be interested enough in said old opinions to sift through the lengthy introductions and forced humor for them.

Or is it my ego? Is everyone I care about doing this and I just haven't been asking the right questions? Instead of "How're you?" I should be asking "How many entries have you published today?" (Ooh, that many, eh? Here, let me log on and read them as you sit in silence so that I can really know what's going on in your life.) Maybe that's it; Just more of technology pushing us away from the people in the same room. People hadn't blogged for the longest time and seemed to do alright, but then again that was back when people spoke face to face and actually listened to each other, I suppose. Ah, a different time, indeed.

At any rate, I am nothing if not an opportunist and nearly always up for a personal experiment. Maybe this will be good for me.

Suckfest 2016

2016 had struck again. 

What I can only describe as the sudden landslide that was my bad luck had reared its ugly head once more and with an almighty swing it had decimated one of my three jobs. The one that was not necessarily my favorite, but certainly the one that I considered to be my "career opportunity" job. And with the first year of my 30s creeping in (in what felt like a deathly, deft sprint, at the unsure age of 27-and-three-quarters), "career-opportunity" was something that seemed to "really matter" to me. 

How did it happen? The same way it had began; via a friendly text message from my boss. Sure, he had the courtesy to blame the final decision on financial instabilities in the still-young company, but I knew immediately. It was me. I had failed. Again.

How does this happen to a person? And just what exactly was I supposed to do with all this free time? Scrolling the bottomless pit that is Instagram only goes so far, and Facebook had lost all appeal quickly with the compelling combination of politics and an unhealthy amount of social media upkeep for two out of my three jobs. It had gotten to the point where I could - at any given moment on any given day, silence my phone for 15 minutes of work, reopen it, and the app would once more be filled to the brim with notifications. Tens of them. None of them my own. It had become 60% work, 40% irritating, and 0% fun. 

So with social media out of the way, what else was there? I had cycled through my medium selection of fiction books recently, having recently decided to be thrifty; 2 new jobs working for tips in Lewiston with a third straining to even clock in 6 hours a week did not a concrete paycheck make. This month, December, 2016, was the first full month where I had only my 3 new jobs to depend on (in a related note, this variable created what I would acknowledge to be the single lengthiest month I had ever experienced). Other than reading and sweating profusely as the date to pay the mortgage crept closer, the only art I had really been practicing was the art of making the best homemade cold-brew coffee. With what could be described as easily the cheapest coffee available at the local supermarket, that is, without tasting completely of cardboard and must. 

Yes, it had seemed I had been making very clever decisions. Foregoing my daily Venti Starbucks for that of my own creation, staying in instead of going out, not spending all of my money on gas by only traveling to work, the bank, the grocery store and back (an especially difficult feat during the holiday season). I pushed myself to stay positive, as per usual, treated everyone with the utmost respect, worked hard, picked up shifts whenever possible. And yet here I was. Down not only a job, but also a car, a boyfriend, and what I could only assume to be an enormous amount of money. With a fuel-oil bill on the way.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

* * *

Everyone had warned me; "2016 is the worst year", "I can't believe how bad everything is", "I'm moving to Canada" etc. And as they warned, I shook my head kindly, danced through the rainbow that was my life, and sang Broadway classics. Everything was not bad; it was great! In November, I had been living in my trailer since May of this year, May also marked the one-year anniversary of my relationship with my dream guy, my car was running just fine (with snow tires from just last year in my shed at the ready), I had been hired in a flash at 2 new waitressing/bar tending gigs (which, naturally, I took as "a sign from God": that here was where I was supposed to be), I was on the way out of my last job that had run its course (my last day on Thanksgiving, how appropriate), and I had solidly found the best, most peaceful, quickest route from my new place to Starbucks. Life was, by definition, good. I had been so blissful that I had even cut back on smoking (3 a day!).

By the time I hit mid to late November, I had gotten a friendly text from one of my sister's friends who had created a brewery in Lewiston. It was a job offer! He wanted me to meet with him and his business partner so we could discuss me being a Product Ambassador! I would essentially be setting up tastings at bars, grabbing samples of the brewery's beer products, and bringing them over to said restaurant to taste and discuss. The end result, of course, being that hopefully I had done my job well enough that I could schedule the brewery boys to deliver a keg or five to said restaurant. Get their name out there a little more, make them a little money, and make a little myself. And working hard for these two boys was more than my pleasure. I don't recall the text I received that day, but I do believe I recall doing what could be categorized as a "victory dance". On top of everything else? I had a "career opportunity"! All-too aware of my own mortality, I had decided early on that I did not wish to be the 90-year-old waitress/bartender that hadn't known when to quit and was no longer relevant as much as she was irrelevant, irritating and all-around unappetizing. Who, more than likely, only still had the job due to the exponentially deepening sadness of the situation. Although I wouldn't mind the blue hair.

By Thanksgiving, my last day at my old job, I had decided that all my stress would surely be coming to an end. Walking out at the end of that shift, I imagine I felt the way everyone in that situation would have; 'This is it. I've clocked out. I am officially free. no more [enter example of being taken advantage here], no more dealing with [enter name of biggest pain-in-the-ass here], I'll never have to come back here again!!!! YOU DON'T OWN ME, ANYMORE, [enter company name here]!!!!!'. Give or take a few exclamation marks (I'm leaning on the side of give). 

Yes, I was finally free of all the bologna. Little did I know my slate had been wiped clean only to pile an insurmountable pile of horse shit atop my very soul. To say the least, I'm smoking again. Habitually.