I spent most of yesterday looking for apartments in Bloomington. This caused some tension, as Joe & I had agreed to wait until we got back to the States and could schedule visits with that.
You know me. I'm not good at waiting. I'm also not optimistic about finding an apartment that isn't a total shit-hole in the middle of July in a college town when we have one vehicle & I need to be able to bike to campus.
I had a sort of meltdown yesterday–looking back at the list of apartments I'd found & seeing that they were no longer available; watching the circle of availability widen across the town of Bloomington; reading the description "near the Wal*Mart" several times (which is unfortunately for several reasons, highest on the list being that Wal*Mart is on a highway & NOT bike-able).
After finding a perfect spot that was became less perfect when it was a bit out of our tiny price range & a lease that started a bit too early, we–okay, "I" as Joe never un-agreed–re-agreed to wait. I'm having a hard time with this. We know no one there to help us get looking early; we're afraid to be scammed (again); we're afraid of not seeing something and getting into a bad situation.
I'm terrified of hating the apartment–of feeling like we're squatting instead of living, as we've felt here sometimes in this one room. I'm terrified that there will be no place for all of the things we need to store, for all of the life we've each accumulated & all of the things that come from getting married. I want a table to eat dinner at again, in a room that has a stove & some counter space. I want good lighting for the desk, where we'll both be spending a lot of time.
I want to feel like I'm Married, starting a life together as adults instead of as college students. I want to feel different than I did as an undergraduate, and this is proving complicated. We don't know if this will be the year when either of us have a salary or a "real job." We don't know how much my tuition will be.
I've realized that somewhere over the past year, I have switched into Settling Mode. I'm watching friends plant gardens & buy houses & have salaries & get dogs. I'm not jealous, but it creates a certain kind of anxiety. When will we GET there?
I'm trying to keep in mind that I have three years of graduate school, meaning we have one year in a potentially crap apartment and ample time to find the next step-up. I realize that a house is out of the question for a while, & I'm okay with that. We have a lot of adventures yet, and even when we have a house I expect us to be on-the-go in our settled-ness. We're not the sit-still type.
It seems, for all of these reasons & the time I've had to dwell on them, that I should be relaxed & comfortable in the waiting: I know it's temporary; Joe is convinced we'll find something. We don't have a choice–and we're good at not having choices. Look at us! We got here & found an apartment; we managed to survive language barriers. We're good at telling ourselves, "We've just got to."
And yet I can't quite calm myself. Last night, with the window open & light on, a swarm of small bugs gathered on our ceiling around the light. I climbed (literally, up the ladder) into bed & realized that they were now above me. This somehow seemed like the moment when I would brake. What are we doing? How can we not escape this constant feeling of transience, even in the "home" we've built over 9 months? I feel like I'm camping in my life.
I took a tissue and smashed as many of them as I could, brown & lime green smears spreading. I tried to scrub them and instead got insect insides under my fingernails. I wanted to feel satisfied, causing my own bit of destruction & showing some sense of dog-like defense of my territory. I just felt tired.
For now, the thing getting me through is the batch of eggless brownies I made last night, which managed to turn out alright despite their burnt top. (Damn you, top-only heating setting! I always forget about you!) I recommend them (even just the batter, since it's eggless & thus guilt- and fear-free) for your next "I need to get through something because I have no personal space where I can just be by myself and have a good cry" sort of day.
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Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
one hundred seven
I've been trying not to think about the wedding until after I graduate. I'm trying to just focus on school. But as I care less and less about these last few days, it's getting harder and harder not to focus my attention on the wedding–especially since next Saturday we'll go to Precana.
I printed out directions this morning: the last journey I have to make around Indiana before I graduate and move out of the state. I have a pretty good feeling that Evansville will be the only city I see in it for quite a while... that is, unless Indiana University takes me under their wing as a poor little Public Policy graduate student. Sometimes I wonder if I could really do it, move back into Indiana. I'm still an Ohio loyalist, so I'd rather be in my state. I'm as blue as the come, so I'd rather be in a socially liberal state. Anyway.
I finalized the list of songs for all of the dances at the wedding and have a few CDs made to play while people are arriving and hanging out at the reception, before we and the DJ arrive.
I finalized plans for the tuxedos, in my mind, which has been a much longer process than anticipated because of the guys' schedules. They've finally gotten it together–odd that the girls could pull this off before them, since our measurements and dress selection are much more in depth. Oh, gender differences.
There are even more things to wrap up in the next two weeks. I'll get all the tuxedo information and get them ordered. Then, Sarah, Joe's mom, is bringing some peacock feathers that a friend has been collecting for us. The feather-getting was step number one for making the flower arrangements.
A cool thing that I like about the wedding, that we're just getting going: An environmentally friendly gift registry. We'll be traveling, so we're shying away from gifts anyway. Instead, we're starting a wedding bank account that people can add to. It saves a ton of energy, fuel, material, paper... I love it. And it's super easy. And it will help us survive the first bit of time abroad. [Key to that: I've made us PROMISE that we're paying ourselves back that wedding nest egg when we get home, so that we can actually start a home. For now, it will operate like a loan from ourselves.]
We're also getting the next step of our life going, crossing off to-do's from the post-wedding life list. Things like buying plane tickets and finding a hotel to live in before we find an apartment, crying about spending the money, reserving a room for the wedding night and figuring out when we'll go to Chicago to get our visas. We're coming, World, ready or not. And I don't no who is more "not," you or us.
I printed out directions this morning: the last journey I have to make around Indiana before I graduate and move out of the state. I have a pretty good feeling that Evansville will be the only city I see in it for quite a while... that is, unless Indiana University takes me under their wing as a poor little Public Policy graduate student. Sometimes I wonder if I could really do it, move back into Indiana. I'm still an Ohio loyalist, so I'd rather be in my state. I'm as blue as the come, so I'd rather be in a socially liberal state. Anyway.
I finalized the list of songs for all of the dances at the wedding and have a few CDs made to play while people are arriving and hanging out at the reception, before we and the DJ arrive.
I finalized plans for the tuxedos, in my mind, which has been a much longer process than anticipated because of the guys' schedules. They've finally gotten it together–odd that the girls could pull this off before them, since our measurements and dress selection are much more in depth. Oh, gender differences.
There are even more things to wrap up in the next two weeks. I'll get all the tuxedo information and get them ordered. Then, Sarah, Joe's mom, is bringing some peacock feathers that a friend has been collecting for us. The feather-getting was step number one for making the flower arrangements.
A cool thing that I like about the wedding, that we're just getting going: An environmentally friendly gift registry. We'll be traveling, so we're shying away from gifts anyway. Instead, we're starting a wedding bank account that people can add to. It saves a ton of energy, fuel, material, paper... I love it. And it's super easy. And it will help us survive the first bit of time abroad. [Key to that: I've made us PROMISE that we're paying ourselves back that wedding nest egg when we get home, so that we can actually start a home. For now, it will operate like a loan from ourselves.]
We're also getting the next step of our life going, crossing off to-do's from the post-wedding life list. Things like buying plane tickets and finding a hotel to live in before we find an apartment, crying about spending the money, reserving a room for the wedding night and figuring out when we'll go to Chicago to get our visas. We're coming, World, ready or not. And I don't no who is more "not," you or us.
one hundred twenty-eight
I've been distracted this week. I've put off all blog posts, yoga, health foods and term papers. I have managed to busy myself with the small things, though.
Yesterday, Joe, who's in town for the week, helped me take our sofa in from outside. The couch came to us from the Salvation Army. That is, SA rejected it and Joe brought it here. The cat hair-encrusted mess was slip-covered, and I've spent the last two years trying to forget what is underneath.
When we hauled the mess outside to be picked up with our other garbage on Thursday morning, our lamp fell over. This is nothing new: it's been less than level for a year. This time, the concrete bottom that worked as a balance complete shattered. I drug the lamp outside and propped it on the couch, then added old closet doors (used as a partition) and a broken dining room chair. It amounted to an odd sort of modern art.
We went about our day and came home near dusk. The couch and lamp were gone. Now, I'm looking around my room for other small things that can be shed from my life. This anxiety of school and long-distance for four more months is one of them.
Joe leaves tomorrow. He's been with me this week, sitting next to me as I get my reading done for class or drink a beer and watch CNN or drink a coffee and watch Democracy Now (all while doing reading for the term papers I'm not yet writing).
It is our last week like this, and today is our last full day. Joe will not spend another week in Muncie, will not visit me as a student. In May, he'll help me move. He'll watch me walk across the stage and leave this place. He'll visit me this summer, in Ohio. But our time long-distance college student visits comes to a close today.
He'll go back to St. Louis tomorrow, be a graduate student and bookstore employee and writing lab tutor and contract faculty English professor. I'll be behind on my translation and ahead on my reading and ready to do all of my final presentations. Final in all ways.
This week, we bought our wedding bands. When he slipped the band onto his finger and rested the hand on the glass display case, I realized how close everything is. The next time we see each other, there will only be the summer. We will be tan and smiling and packing for our life together.
Joe's asleep right now. I should be reading about managing PR departments. I should be making diagrams and presentation boards. I should be stoppping Baby from chewing the carpet under my bed. I should be packing my belongings into cardboard boxes.
Yesterday, Joe, who's in town for the week, helped me take our sofa in from outside. The couch came to us from the Salvation Army. That is, SA rejected it and Joe brought it here. The cat hair-encrusted mess was slip-covered, and I've spent the last two years trying to forget what is underneath.
When we hauled the mess outside to be picked up with our other garbage on Thursday morning, our lamp fell over. This is nothing new: it's been less than level for a year. This time, the concrete bottom that worked as a balance complete shattered. I drug the lamp outside and propped it on the couch, then added old closet doors (used as a partition) and a broken dining room chair. It amounted to an odd sort of modern art.
We went about our day and came home near dusk. The couch and lamp were gone. Now, I'm looking around my room for other small things that can be shed from my life. This anxiety of school and long-distance for four more months is one of them.
Joe leaves tomorrow. He's been with me this week, sitting next to me as I get my reading done for class or drink a beer and watch CNN or drink a coffee and watch Democracy Now (all while doing reading for the term papers I'm not yet writing).
It is our last week like this, and today is our last full day. Joe will not spend another week in Muncie, will not visit me as a student. In May, he'll help me move. He'll watch me walk across the stage and leave this place. He'll visit me this summer, in Ohio. But our time long-distance college student visits comes to a close today.
He'll go back to St. Louis tomorrow, be a graduate student and bookstore employee and writing lab tutor and contract faculty English professor. I'll be behind on my translation and ahead on my reading and ready to do all of my final presentations. Final in all ways.
This week, we bought our wedding bands. When he slipped the band onto his finger and rested the hand on the glass display case, I realized how close everything is. The next time we see each other, there will only be the summer. We will be tan and smiling and packing for our life together.
Joe's asleep right now. I should be reading about managing PR departments. I should be making diagrams and presentation boards. I should be stoppping Baby from chewing the carpet under my bed. I should be packing my belongings into cardboard boxes.
one hundred sixty-one
My life has started throwing up on my house.
To make myself feel better about how quickly things are moving, I've started packing. More accurately, I've started throwing things in the trash or onto my roommate's big round chair that hangs out in the dining room.
If I actually took some time to fold the laundry I washed at the beginning of the week, I would have the storage tub I need to pack these things away. I would pack up the dishes that the house doesn't need to use anymore, the espresso machine, the serving bowls, the spatulas. I'm packing away all of my "extras" and living off of my roommates. It's a nice switch, and I'm giving myself two months of it.
Added bonus: no mixer lying around by the sink, no sudden urge to by ingredients for a new cookie recipe... which reminds me... I really want to make some more apple-apricot bread.
The landing at the top of the stairs, which separates mine and Rachel's rooms, is currently housing a set of folding doors (used as a partition in my room until two days ago), a wire "bookcase," a basket of trash, a stack of books that don't fit on my three bookcases (this is a problem I have), a folding chair and all of my laundry equipment.
My room feels open. When I open the door, I am claustrophobic--but it's progress, I tell myself. They're baby steps to the next phase of life, and I just realized how complicated that phase is. My packing is split between four lives I'll be living:
Would they buy a books that a local author signed to me when I wrote a feature story on her? Oh God, how horrible of a person does that make me?
Would they buy the 1950s fan that my boss helped me steal from the History Department? Oh, but I love the teal metal--can't let that go.
Would they buy my trashcan? Ok, really? We're grasping at straws here.
The small moves--from my room to the landing, from the landing to the living room--remind me how close we really are to being together. Each night when I talk to Joe on the phone and we dream about the weekends of our graduation, we realize that our life is getting started. Now is when our potential energy becomes kinetic and we start moving through the world.
To make myself feel better about how quickly things are moving, I've started packing. More accurately, I've started throwing things in the trash or onto my roommate's big round chair that hangs out in the dining room.
If I actually took some time to fold the laundry I washed at the beginning of the week, I would have the storage tub I need to pack these things away. I would pack up the dishes that the house doesn't need to use anymore, the espresso machine, the serving bowls, the spatulas. I'm packing away all of my "extras" and living off of my roommates. It's a nice switch, and I'm giving myself two months of it.
Added bonus: no mixer lying around by the sink, no sudden urge to by ingredients for a new cookie recipe... which reminds me... I really want to make some more apple-apricot bread.
The landing at the top of the stairs, which separates mine and Rachel's rooms, is currently housing a set of folding doors (used as a partition in my room until two days ago), a wire "bookcase," a basket of trash, a stack of books that don't fit on my three bookcases (this is a problem I have), a folding chair and all of my laundry equipment.
My room feels open. When I open the door, I am claustrophobic--but it's progress, I tell myself. They're baby steps to the next phase of life, and I just realized how complicated that phase is. My packing is split between four lives I'll be living:
- my life in Muncie after I move all of my furniture home
- my life with my parents for the summer, which splits packing between things I need
- while I'm with my parents
- when I get set for France
- my life in August, where packing for a honeymoon, a week with Joe's family and a year in France, all happen in about 10 days
- my life when we return from France and start being an American married couple
Would they buy a books that a local author signed to me when I wrote a feature story on her? Oh God, how horrible of a person does that make me?
Would they buy the 1950s fan that my boss helped me steal from the History Department? Oh, but I love the teal metal--can't let that go.
Would they buy my trashcan? Ok, really? We're grasping at straws here.
The small moves--from my room to the landing, from the landing to the living room--remind me how close we really are to being together. Each night when I talk to Joe on the phone and we dream about the weekends of our graduation, we realize that our life is getting started. Now is when our potential energy becomes kinetic and we start moving through the world.
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