Update, Volume 1

As you may know, I moved Midwest, because I wanted to. On my last day of work, two weeks before the move, a coworker showed up despite resigning a few days before with anticipation of moving to New England with her fiancé. I gathered over my final hours there that she was afraid to leave the area (“I wouldn’t know anybody out there”) and too complacent (“I wouldn’t have a job”) to the extent that she broke up with her fiancé over it. I took it as a sign that even if I experienced long term unemployment and loneliness and frustration and moments of regret and disappointment I needed to do it.

There’s nothing to report about the solo drive out there, except that my memorization of directions is more reliable than the GPS. I know that because I ignored it when given backroad ideas. And I have now increased my one day driving accumulation record from four hours to over eight.

I had a fitness test and interview for the police. I wish the fitness test was harder because I could run a mile and a half in under fifteen minutes wearing jeans and my Carhartt after Chinese. The interview went just alright. Talking about myself in any capacity has never been a strong trait. I was tempted to ask them if there was another set of questions that were less narcissistic. Now I’m just waiting, hoping (and praying) on that.

I’m living in a house that, according to Wikipedia, isn’t in the best neighborhood with three other tenants roughly my age and the landlord, his wife, and 3-year-old daughter. If it wasn’t for the little blonde girl I would’ve been hesitant, but if it’s good enough for her I can tough it out. So far I haven’t heard any gunshots at night so I think I’ll make it. My bedroom is half the size of past rentals and I still have free space. However, my parents are talking about visiting in October and I asked them to bring my folding chair if they do, so hopefully that doesn’t become too much. Here’s an exclusive tour:

My first week here was spent in a beautiful home with generous people. I look forward to the point in my life where if I gave someone a place to stay they receive more than a couch and peanut butter sandwiches.

Before I left a concerned friend made me promise I wouldn’t be “antisocial,” meaning I wouldn’t adopt my Happy Cast Away philosophy — if I was stranded on a desert island I wouldn’t even bother trying to get back — in the new environment. So far I caught up with someone I met three years ago. And I talked to my landlord’s wife about our mutual love for NPR. (More than one radio preset is in so we don’t have to worry about missing a second of Car Talk on those long drives.)

That’s mostly it. Still looking for a (hopefully) temporary job. Put in an application to volunteer at a homeless shelter, director is going to call me next week. I’m still living out of a suitcase because a dresser I was going to take doesn’t fit in my car. I’ve taken to walking around. I’m learning.