Moving Along

Mmmm. I'm home again. it's been a busy week--I had to do the "break-up vigil" for the past few days, and it was an experience which took me far from home, physically, anyway. Emotionally, it was actually pretty close to home--a spare moment's reflection made me realize that I was a good person to keep the vigil: my elephant memory retained the memories of how kind everyone (well, most) were to me last winter, and the ways in which they took care of me, and so I was able to pass that onto my friend. But also, I was able to intellectually and emotionally recall how I felt, last winter--all the shock, the discombobulated thoughts, the pleading, bargaining, self-reproach, and numb disbelief, periodic euphoria.

I've come a long way, in every sense possible.

But now I am home with my internets and my kitties, who are as happy to see me as I am to see them. It's not going to be home for much longer--in less than two weeks, I am picking up sticks and moving. Again. This time, I will be moving closer to where I work--I will actually be in Sunnydale, and sharing an apartment with one of my colleagues. The colleague is nice, and the apartment is a little shabby on the outside (okay, ghetto), but big enough on the inside with a decent-sized kitchen, and a funky little hall cupboard, and the nester in me is rejoicing. This is the best thing I can do for myself financially--I will be saving a considerable sum of money each month.
So, as of 1 October, I am going to have a new home. Which means I will have moved nine times within the last 4.5 years. I'm really not a commitment-phobe! Even though my new lease will be month-to-month. Bliss!

All I Ever Learned Of Love Was How to Shoot At Someone Who Outdrew You...

Lately, I have been listening to a favorite song of mine, Rufus Wainwright's "Hallelujah", without really knowing why. And then, tonight, I was discussing it with one of my Indiana People...how it's an incredibly intense, melancholy song, but how there is a note of...something, other than sadness to it. Because, as my conversational partner pointed out, while the song is a sad one, its title is nevertheless "Hallelujah", which is essentially an expression of joy and rejoicing. This segued into the nature of love, and how it is essentially something incredibly sad and yet worthy of rejoicing, all at once. A strange victory, if you will.

But lord, do I have a lot left to learn about it.

The Ones that Can Know You So Well Are the Ones Who Can Swallow You Whole...

It's official--I belong to California now. This morning, I took my written driver's test, and got my license. Next time I go to the DMV, I'll register to vote.
But even as I cement my new life here in SoCal, there are pleasant reminders of the lives I left behind. I got two lovely, lovely surprises in the mail today: a belated birthday package from a friend in Indiana, and a fat letter from a friend in Florida. Both brought me an enormous measure of comfort--the package because, hey! gifts in the mail are great! And also, friends who send them are great! And the letter because I love to get letters from people, and my friend in Florida puts his heart and soul in them, as I do with the letters I send him. We've been corresponding for over two years, and he knows me through my words in a way that few people will ever have the privilege or courage to know. And his letter today brought enormous comfort--I've made some huge changes in my life in the past few months, and it's nice to know that someone who knows me from 'way back when is still there, still knows me, still approves of me, still supports me. Familiarity can be suffocating, but it can also be wonderful and sweet.

Oh, and the package of goodies was awesome--stationery (wooo! I can write my letters on pretty paper!), a bottle of honey mead from the Oliver Winery back in Indiana (nope, still not homesick), and a silver necklace. I have to say, I find it funny that I get more gifts of jewelry from my female friends than I do my lovers.

Other than this little hilight, life has been pretty busy. Here's a run-down with some major events bulleted, and then one memory in narration form.

-Pop culture references continue: In the past week, I have watched Baseketball, Napoleon Dynamite, Syriana, and Ali G.

-Somehow I have managed to lose 4 pounds. I have no idea how, or where they have gotten to.

-Last Saturday, I went driving with Recent Acquaintance down a country road with Ramstein blaring on the car speakers. Oddly enough, it was as relaxed as I had been all day.

-This coming Sunday I am going to Huntington Beach for kayaking, boogey-boarding, and a bonfire.

-My colleague Mr. E and I have decided that dating is like an episode of LOST --one never knows what's going to happen next. Does that mean that love is like an invisible beast that runs out of the forest at random times for the sole purpose of eviscerating us? Must ponder.

* * * * *

In the predawn hours, while most in the tiny little town were still sleeping, still unaware of the night life beyond their windows, a wind arose. Soft and gentle at first, it tinkled through windchimes and rustled through the few trees. And then, without warning, the wind strengthened. It became noisy, snapping tree branches, causing eaves and roofs to creak and settle, rattling window blinds.

Sleeping as lightly as I was, it was not long before the noise awakened me. I stirred and sat up, disconcerted at first by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then, my bearings sorted out, I began to listen to the wind and the havoc it was creating. Quietly, so as to not disturb my slumbering companion, I assumed the position that had become so common to me lately: knees drawn up and together, tucked under my chin, my arms wrapped tightly around my legs. A defensive, protective posture. The wind had spooked me--too many years of violent, unexpected storms and superstitious Alice Hoffman novels had left their mark on me. Logically, I knew that sudden strong winds were normal in the Pass, but this was the first time I had encountered them, and it felt strange.

It took a while for me to drift back to sleep. But the wind continued blowing. And in a way, they are blowing still.

Midnight Nonsense

I haven't been posting a lot lately--and funnily enough, it's not because I have nothing to talk about. On the contrary, there are plenty of events, interactions, conversations, emotions upon which I could reflect. I could talk about how I went kayaking for the first time the other day, and surprised myself with how well I took to it. I could talk about how I swam in the Pacific Ocean for the first time in my life, and dove into the waves and let the icy waves buffet me about as I thrilled in the sensuality of it. I could talk about how I saw the Milky Way for the first time, and felt as though I were more aware of myself and my place in this swirling chaos than I had been aware of in a very long time. I could talk about how, last Sunday, I was so tired and lonely and homesick (homesick for where, exactly?) and yet somehow managed to find the courage to show my vulnerability to one of my Riverside mates, who opened up her home and washing machine to me, and drew me a bath and passed me one of her beautiful bathrobes and treated me better than I have remembered to treat myself in a while. I could talk at length about any of these events, but it's late, and my eyelids are drooping and my mind is racing. The longer I spend in Southern California, the more I edge away from the shallow end of the pool and venture out into the darkened depths of the unknown--my career, my emotional terrain, my personal relationships, all of them lie further out, further than I have ever swum before. My heart is full, and growing larger all the time, and my mind is swirling with all of the thoughts and emotions that plague someone as analytical and self-aware as I. I'm staring all of this down, trying to process it, trying not to shut down emotionally. Trying to gather the courage to plunge into whatever life I am brave enough to forge for myself, and all the while wanting nothing more than to head for the hills and not look back.

Problem is, with a heart as big as mine, there's no running. There's only courage, often times faltering, and sometimes silence, as I try to process something new. The only way out is through. But for now, sleep. Tomorrow's another day--another day of courage, another day of forging ahead, making my life as happy and right as I can.

The Ones that Can Know You So Well Are the Ones Who Can Swallow You Whole...

It's official--I belong to California now. This morning, I took my written driver's test, and got my license. Next time I go to the DMV, I'll register to vote.
But even as I cement my new life here in SoCal, there are pleasant reminders of the lives I left behind. I got two lovely, lovely surprises in the mail today: a belated birthday package from a friend in Indiana, and a fat letter from a friend in Florida. Both brought me an enormous measure of comfort--the package because, hey! gifts in the mail are great! And also, friends who send them are great! And the letter because I love to get letters from people, and my friend in Florida puts his heart and soul in them, as I do with the letters I send him. We've been corresponding for over two years, and he knows me through my words in a way that few people will ever have the privilege or courage to know. And his letter today brought enormous comfort--I've made some huge changes in my life in the past few months, and it's nice to know that someone who knows me from 'way back when is still there, still knows me, still approves of me, still supports me. Familiarity can be suffocating, but it can also be wonderful and sweet.

Oh, and the package of goodies was awesome--stationery (wooo! I can write my letters on pretty paper!), a bottle of honey mead from the Oliver Winery back in Indiana (nope, still not homesick), and a silver necklace. I have to say, I find it funny that I get more gifts of jewelry from my female friends than I do my lovers.

Other than this little hilight, life has been pretty busy. Here's a run-down with some major events bulleted, and then one memory in narration form.

-Pop culture references continue: In the past week, I have watched Baseketball, Napoleon Dynamite, Syriana, and Ali G.

-Somehow I have managed to lose 4 pounds. I have no idea how, or where they have gotten to.

-Last Saturday, I went driving with Recent Acquaintance down a country road with Ramstein blaring on the car speakers. Oddly enough, it was as relaxed as I had been all day.

-This coming Sunday I am going to Huntington Beach for kayaking, boogey-boarding, and a bonfire.

-My colleague Mr. E and I have decided that dating is like an episode of LOST --one never knows what's going to happen next. Does that mean that love is like an invisible beast that runs out of the forest at random times for the sole purpose of eviscerating us? Must ponder.

* * * * *

In the predawn hours, while most in the tiny little town were still sleeping, still unaware of the night life beyond their windows, a wind arose. Soft and gentle at first, it tinkled through windchimes and rustled through the few trees. And then, without warning, the wind strengthened. It became noisy, snapping tree branches, causing eaves and roofs to creak and settle, rattling window blinds.

Sleeping as lightly as I was, it was not long before the noise awakened me. I stirred and sat up, disconcerted at first by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then, my bearings sorted out, I began to listen to the wind and the havoc it was creating. Quietly, so as to not disturb my slumbering companion, I assumed the position that had become so common to me lately: knees drawn up and together, tucked under my chin, my arms wrapped tightly around my legs. A defensive, protective posture. The wind had spooked me--too many years of violent, unexpected storms and superstitious Alice Hoffman novels had left their mark on me. Logically, I knew that sudden strong winds were normal in the Pass, but this was the first time I had encountered them, and it felt strange.

It took a while for me to drift back to sleep. But the wind continued blowing. And in a way, they are blowing still.

Still A Nomad, But No Longer in Exile

In 6.5 years, I have moved seven times. Each time, it gets a little easier--I say good-bye a little more lightly, leave behind a few more belongings, learn to let out a little more of the baggage. Sure, it rips me apart to leave the people I love and with whom I have forged connections, but I am philosophical about it. Partings are a part of life. And each time I leave people and possessions behind, I become a little more self-reliant, a little more detached from physical possession (for example, there's a trail of stoneware across the U.S., abandoned to my various ex-boyfriends). And it's been a very long time--perhaps since the Florida years--that I felt I had a home. Thus, I say I'm "in exile."

I especially felt like that in Indiana, which is exceptionally sad. I loved Indiana--loved the climate, the scenery, the farmland, the seasons, the architecture, the anonymity. Problem was, Indiana didn't love me.

I found it hard, especially at first, to connect with people. Midwesterners are painfully reserved and socially awkward, and my open, free, doofy demeanor did not go over well. I suppose I made friends easily enough--after all, M. and I started dating pretty much immediately after I moved there (whoops! I tripped!!)--but forging connections, that took a little longer. And I felt the lack of it keenly.

And I was always sick in Indiana--within ten days of moving there, I had come down with a horrible sinus infection, caused by aggravated allergies, and a urinary tract infection. (Okay, so allergies did not cause the UTI. Other, more...uh...vigorous activities were the culprit of that). And the sicknesses just never really stopped. I was unable to smell anything during most of the almost-two years I was there.

But still, I loved Indiana. For a long time, I assumed I would be spending the rest of my life there, being a literacy librarian and living in a quaint Broad Ripple Bungalow and popping out argumentative babies with receding hairlines, big hips, and dysthymia. However...if you want to hear god laugh, make plans. In hindsight, I can say that I loved Indiana, but I don't think it was ever my home, not matter how hard I tried.

And now, I am here, in Southern California. On the way to work the other morning, as I looked out over the canyon, it occurred to me--This is home. I feel more right here than I ever did in Indiana. I might still be a nomad, but I am no longer in exile. The heat might melt me into a gooey pile of estrogen and sex appeal on a daily basis, but at least it happens in a place where I belong. There's a dozen little ways that I sense it: Katie, showing up on my doorstep and helping me assemble furniture, even though she had never met me before. One of the Library Assistants at work, who only knows me as the whacky new librarian, offers to drive me to the airport when I leave for Portland. When I bathe, I can inhale the scent of my toasted-vanilla-and-sugar body wash. I wake up in the morning to cats purring and nestled close to me. My Riverside mates laugh at the incredibly odd things that I blurt out at equally odd times. This is home.

Maybe it's nothing to do with the location, and everything to do with me. Unbidden, a memory from earlier in the spring floats into my head, me saying to my closest friends: "I can be happy no matter where I live. I am all that I need to make a happy life my reality." So maybe I would feel happy and at home, whether I lived in SoCal, or Mississippi, or Alaska (Alaska! Think of all the single men! It would be Mel-hunting season, all year 'round!). I'd like to think that's the case.

But I am still Mel, and I have my common sense and values. So here is my SoCal survival guide, to keep this place my happy home so long as I live here:

1. I will use SPF 10,000 on a daily basis.

2. I will not bleach my hair blonde.

3. I will attempt to journey to a beach or ocean (with afore-mentioned SPF 10,000) on a semi-regular basis.

4. I will not have casual sex. I'm not emotionally capable of it, and no change in geographic location will alter that.

5. I will stay here long enough to really enjoy this experience.

6. I will not buy anything on Rodeo Drive.

7. I will refrain from crying like a bitch with a skinned knee the next time there is an earthquake.

8. I will not get a boob job. (Thank goodness I don't actually need one).

Welcome to the Club

Not that long ago, I was having conversation with Recent Acquaintance, who informed me that "Clumsiness was hot." I think he was being sarcastic. But ha! Sarcasm and mockery do come back to haunt us. In this case, Recent Acquaintance realized how hot clumsiness can be when he broke two toes, trying to avoid stepping on his kittens. The really sad thing about this is that he broke his toes separately, on two different occasions. And now he is hobbling everywhere. Really hot. Recent Acquaintance has now been dubbed "The Gimp." Poor fella--I actually feel bad for him. As clumsy as I am, I have managed to avoid broken bones.

At least they match.