Transitions

Maybe it's just my slightly uptight capricorn nature, but no matter how excited I am about a big change in my life I just can't stand the feeling of being in limbo. There is very little I dislike more than not having control over my own life or personal situation. Packing is fine. I've managed to gather everything I need for the big move through various means. I've done a little hardcore bargain shopping with my grandmother and a bit of sifting through the basements and garages of various family members to find the rest. It's amazing, really, how much silverwear one can acquire without buying any of it. Everytime someone in the family dies, all their silverwear seems to migrate to one place where it sits tarnishing in a bucket of mismatched peices for about a decade until one of the youth (myself, in this case) comes along and attempts to find a set. Naturally there is an odd amount. In my case, I managed to find 8 matching forks, 2 matching table spoons and a soup spoon all from the same original set. I wonder what happened to all those other spoons and knives. I mean, who could have possibly needed them but not needed the forks? I imagine they're lost in mismatch land with so many of those odd socks.

But back to this limbo thing: it's not really working for me. I've spent the last two months playing the chicken and egg game with my job and apartment hunt. My family lives in Maine so my transient lifestyle has involved couch and spare bed hopping around the state. During this time I've been applying for jobs, but of course my background in international business and marketing doesn't really lend itself to the small town, small business culture of Maine. Alas, I've decided to migrate south for the winter. Well, south of Maine, anyway. My job search has been focusing on Boston. Then came the big question: do I secure a job first, or an apartment? If I start interviewing for jobs, I'm going to have to take the train two and a half hours and find a friend's couch to crash on every time an opportunity arises. On the other hand, if I find the apartment first I have to find a job before my savings runs out and I can't pay the rent. After several long trips for interviews, I finally decided that the apartment is more important. So now I have a decent place in a great neighborhood with a roommate and the pressure is on. The economy is crashing and it is my duty to find a steady source of income. That starving artist thing doesn't go over so well when there are other people sharing the lease!

Despite my quiet, internal panic attack - I've been dreaming about Finland and other dreadful things - I can't trouble myself to write cover letters or make phone calls again until I get settled in. In fact, I haven't done much of anything productive for myself all week, aside from getting everything I need for the apartment. Did I mention my roommate is flying in from Italy and I am bringing furniture for her, too? Yeah, I'm packing for two. I've actually been doing all kinds of nice things for other people. I've been helping take care of my uncle's dogs while he's in Colorado. Don't get me wrong, I love dogs, but those poor guys are so old one of them should really be put down. Beyond that, it's a 30 minute drive into the Maine wilderness from where I'm staying and going out there is like stepping onto the set of Murder, She Wrote. I've also gone to the local jail with my mom to bail out my brother. His intentions are generally good, but he seems to enjoy stressing out the rest of us by doing something completely rediculous every now and then and reminding us that he hasn't quite grown up yet. I seriously wonder if he ever will. I mean, how many times can one spend a night in the drunk tank? From what I hear it's pretty unpleasant, to say the least. I've heard it described as something along the lines of a bare cell with a hole in the floor. I can't imagine it smells too hot after all the drunks that came before you, passing various genres of bodily waste in (and around, or quite possibly nowhere near) that little hole in the floor. I guess that explains why he's generally in a foul mood even after we've been so nice as to post his bail. Welcome home, sunshine!

All in all I can't complain too much. Sure, I'm going through reverse culture shock for the second time in my life, and I'm unemployed as hysteria sets in about the condition of the American economy, but at least I've got a nice place to live. I've got some appointments and interviews set up with staffing agencies, so hopefully that will prove fruitful. If not, I'm screwed. Wish me luck, folks!