Back in the Saddle Again

Well, Folks, just wanted to let y'all know I got a job offer as a Family Specialist for a foster-care agency in Albany! Right now, I'll be enjoying my time off before I start to work. I have plans to visit a fellow cowgirl riding into New Hampshire. She assures me there is no sales tax there.

Hun will be spending the weekend preparing for yet another exam.

At the Homestead

Well, Folks, I'm off the trail and Norma Jean (my car) is safely parked in my new corral.

I've unpacked the remained of my stuff and attempted to acclimate to New England life. Although I'm still slow on the time change and I have no concept of where my physical being is located at any point in space, I am beginning to somewhat settle in.

The week's activities consisted of: making coffee, attempting to pirate internet access from the public library, successfully pilfering internet access at Hun's school, making more coffee, managing to navigate Norma Jean to Sam's Club, spending way too much money at Sam's Club, finding a thrift store and sighing in disappointment at the lack of cool furniture and so forth, making more coffee, playing with my new flash drive I bought at Sam's Club, sending out my resume and applying for jobs, and getting a call for an interview--in a town an hour away.

Anywho, that's all that's new with me. Although I am excited about the interview tomorrow, I am a bit disappointment there are no entry-level tightrope walker positions to be found in Albany. I am also disappointment there is no chorizo nor corn tortillas found in this city. Let me tell y'all, this is roughing it.

Hitting the Trail

Well, Folks, I'm on the trail to Albany. My folks and I have circled up in Pensylvania tonight, and plan on seeing Frank Lloyd Write's Falling Water in the morning.

I wish I could say I've made profound discoveries while on the road. Traveling often helps me in that regard. The only relevation I've made is that six hours of Soduko is a bit too much.

I had a whirlwind week of packing, tossing out worldly possessions, pre-wedding madness, wedding madness, and post-wedding madness. (I'll say this much, I'm glad I got my dress for 60 bucks on e-bay, 'cause--damn--I will not wear that thing again. Over half of my professionally applied make-up slid onto it before the cake was cut. Can we say, The Shroud of Tammy Fae?)

Anywho, as crazy as last week was, I had a blast (and a bit of a hangover). I also got to see some folks before riding out of town, such as the beaming bride (no blushing for her), my other close friends and their freshly hatched cutie. I cried off the last drizzle of make-up when I was holding Baby Mia in my arms at the wedding. I realized one of my best friends was now a mommy, one of my other closest friends was dancing with her new husband, and I was about to start a new chapter of my life with Hun.

As Morton's salt said, or was it Mahatma Gandhi, "When it rains, it pours."

If anyone has any job leads for starving social workers, please give me a heads up. So far, there have been few leads in the past couple of weeks. I guess I'll be writing a lot next week.

One Small Leap . . .

The countdown is getting lower. Only ten more days (estimated) before hitting my new homestead in Albany to reunite with Hun. Only five more days before hitting the road for the east coast with my remaining material possessions, my car with a malfunctioning driver-side seat belt, and my parental units in tow. Only three more days until one of my best friends gets married and becomes an official California Girl.

EEEEEK!!

I have been eagerly anticipating all these activities for the past couple of months. I've missed Hun something awful, and this phone relationship just isn't working. It's the natural next step, and I believe this move will be good for the both of us. We will learn to communicate and rely on each other on a deeper level. It will be a great opportunity for us to explore a part of the country we've had daydreams about moving to.

Although I enjoyed my job, I even knew it was time for me to move on. This move is another opportunity for me to stretch my feathers, perhaps give it a shot at a "regular" office job, whatever that means. Perhaps I can even humor my delusions of grandeur and try my hand at a writing group or do some minor freelance pieces. Perhaps I can get an apprenticeship at furniture refinishing, or a circus is looking for some entry-level tightrope work--where the wire is very, very close to the ground.

All of it is an opportunity for a fresh start, a chance to stretch myself, or repaint myself as someone more . . . well . . . interesting and glamorous, rather than the crazy-haired bitch my teenage kiddos on my caseload have grown to know and find somewhat OK from time to time. (If any of you know teenagers, especially teenagers who have been disappointed and betrayed by adults their whole life, this is heady praise indeed.) Not only that, but I've got Hun solidly by my side to boot.

Still, it's like when you jump off a diving board for the first time as a kid. You shiver in line and bounce back and forth on each foot to avoid getting your soles burned on the hot cement. Your buddies cheer you on, half of them have jumped a gazillion times before and the other half aren't allowed by their parents--but would be doing back flips if they could (ya, right). The diving board even urges you to jump--swinging up and down as your toes dangle from the edge and you hands are balled up into tight little wads at your side. Although the water beacons you, your buddies assure you chances of death are slim, and deep inside you know jumping off that board will be the coolest thing ever--the board looks higher standing on the edge of it than as a poolside spectator, and the deep end looks . . . well . . . deep.

Only the puss-faced and pushy thirteen-year-old, who happens to be next in line, starts pounding on the board with his humongoid feet, creating a veritable tidal wave of motion at the end. You call him an asshole (hoping your mom isn't around to hear) and tell him to stop. He, in turn, calls you a pussy and tells you to shit or get off the pot. Well, you're definitely not a pussy and you've been potty trained for years, and not no one if nobody is gonna tell you you can't do nuthin'. You turn around and tell him to shut up, little 'splode-o-face diaper boy, and slip off the board.

Your friends cheer, you're grinning so hard you can barely see. It was the coolest thing in the world. You swim to the middle of the pool, knowing the only thing the teenager can do is frenetically splash water around and barely make it to the nearest ladder, much less chase you down to throttle you. Hee, hee!

Well I have no acne-prone teenager egging me on. All I have are my friends who back me, the promise of a new beginning, and--most importantly--Hun by my side. As scared as I may be facing the abyss, I need to bolster my faith that my future will be the coolest thing ever.