I woke up early this morning to clean up a little before a couple of our friends come over for the day. They'll be our first guests (other than our parents) who have seen our new place. I've been anxious and annoying about it because our house is still so not done. I'm finding that most of my Nashville furniture that I spent $3,000 moving across the country just isn't what I want anymore. The memories it holds are things I never want to think about again. Seeing antique Southern furniture in a Victorian beach community doesn't quite cut it.
But that's okay. Our TV is being housed on Brad's old coffee table. I'm using an old step stool as a side table with a lamp. We bought a champagne chiller with two little buck heads for handles yesterday, and since we haven't purchased a bar yet, it's sitting on another side table next to a book about home decor. The irony is palpable.
Yesterday morning we walked through downtown to get coffee and breakfast, and then out to the edge of the pier. It was sprinkly and dreary. There was a homeless guy digging the dirt up from between the wood planks we were all walking on. We sat out there and watched a pod of dolphins jump through the air and swim together along the coast. Our faces were damp, and someone stopped to offer to take our picture.
From my view at my makeshift desk (read: kitchen table), I can see the coast. I can see the mountains. I can see all the beach houses and palm trees and downtown and a neighborhood cat who will not, no matter how much he stares at me, come let me pet him. We're buying an area rug today. The couch I want is $2100.
Things are really good. I have a job. I have health insurance. I have really selfless coworkers. I have a boyfriend who understands my anxiety and depression, and doesn't fight with it. I have a beach house. I have breakfast tacos in my stomach and limeade in a glass next to me. I'm in good health and I finally have my Nashville bed, the one I bought specifically so I could have a boy come visit me from across the country. The same boy who is laying across his old bachelor pad black leather sofa in our living room, reading the news, listening to Elliott Smith.
But some of you are angry that I don't update anymore. That I don't have anything funny to say. Sorry, guys.
I got married... TO HAVING A LIFE.
But for real, the last 5 years of my blog is a medley of entries about how depressed I was, how unhappy I was, how disappointed I was, how stuck I was.
I’ve always been rather personal on my blog. I play things a lot closer to the vest now that I work with a huge organization and don't want to be found out in the way I did before. Not that I am ashamed of this, or where it's led me. But I've grown up a bit. I'll continue to write what I want, when I want, when I get a chance.
This blog has always been a reflection of who I am. I was sad before because I felt stuck in high school, in college, in post-college life, working retail, working as a nanny, in a miserable relationship, living in a city I never wanted to be in, etc.
I’m happy now because I’m living in my literal dream city, working for a department and industry I truly believe in and meeting people who make being here alone a hell of a lot easier. Sharing this all with you is the same kind of reflective update on my life as writing “I haven’t been able to leave my bed all day” two years ago. I’m just happy now.
You can read my archives if happier things make you angry. My past is full of emotional sewerage, maybe that will cheer you up.