Blue

maybe i shouldn’t listen to the new radiohead at work

I don’t actually feel like writing an entry right now, but I’m sad. And sometimes when I’m sad it helps to write. I hate crying in my office. I shut the door, but I still have that feeling that someone is going to walk into my office at any moment and find me all sobby at my desk.

I feel like I’m running out of time. I’m really stressed out. I don’t know how I’m going to do all of this. I’ve got a week and some change to find a new apartment, get back here, pack up all of my things, get them loaded into the moving truck, drive to Los Angeles, get into the new apartment, wait for the cats to arrive, wait for my things to arrive, unpack everything, and then find a job before I’m completely broke.

We’ll have to buy new furniture, as we’re not taking some of ours. I have to go through my books and give some away. I have to go through my clothes and give some away. I have to get rid of dishes and pots and pans and glasses and videotapes and bedding and all of these things I’ve seem to collected. I have a computer and a printer and a scanner and all of the software for the PC that I don’t use anymore that I have to get rid of. If I don’t find an apartment with a washer and dryer, I have to sell those too.

Or I find a storage facility in Los Angeles, but I don’t know how I’ll get my things there.

I have to find time to visit my family. My parents work on weekdays, and my weekends are pretty busy and very few once I get back here. I have to forward all of the addresses, change my bank, and still get all of my writing deadlines met. I have to move with the television and VCR so I can do the recaps, because I can’t just not do the recaps– it’s my income right now. All of the freelance stuff is all of my income right now. I can’t just take a break from it or I have no money coming in.

I just had to fill out my exit questionnaire for my job. I didn’t have any complaints. I’m not leaving because I hated the job. I’m leaving because I can’t take it with me.

I thought I was going to cry during last night’s show, but since my friends really are quite funny, even the times I thought I was going to choke up (Andy singing to me, me and Chuy singing for the last time, the final number with all of us singing), they made me laugh and I just had a really good time. Eric was the surprise guest of the evening, coming out when I thought we were all going to do a closing number. I’ve got this Ma Joad thing where I’m fine ’till Pa’s around and gives me some compassion, and then I’m all weepy. He simply said, “I’m proud of you, baby.” The crowd “Aw”ed and I got all teary.

I also enjoyed my mom being a constant part of the show, even though I know it embarrassed the hell out of her. People love my mom, and it makes me proud. The cutest thing in the world is watching her and Matt have a conversation. I want him to come home for a holiday with me sometime so I can watch the two of them stammer and out-polite each other over who should have the last biscuit.

See, now I’m smiling, because I’m thinking good things about my friends and my family, but it always follows with that sting of having to say goodbye.

Why is it when we cry that our mouths salivate? Is it because the back of your throat swells up? Is it to clean out your mouth, since you cry when you’re in pain and the tears are supposed to have some sort of antiseptic? Is it because your tongue swells a little and rests on some sort of salivary gland? I think it might be so we have a harder time talking when we cry, since we might say things we don’t mean, or we don’t know how to express what we’re feeling. It might also be a defense mechanism. People you don’t want coming up to you stay away because you’re a weepy drooly mess. The ones who love you no matter what let the snot and drool get all over them while they hold you.

My office computer just crashed again. It does it every day at this time. I’m so used to it now, I think I might miss the break I take when I reboot. I know the ins and outs of this machine, its quirks. Will the next person treat it as well? Will the next person in my office keep the walls all clean and empty, or fill it with posters like I did? I won’t be around to suggest some toys and posters in the office, as they muffle sound and make it just a bit warmer in here. I can’t show the new person the stealthy way to sneak in and out of the building so no one sees you. The best places to park. The best places to read. The best time of the day to hit the kitchen and find free food. The new person will have to find them on his or her own. Just like I had to a year ago.

I’ve been bitching about the year 2000 for so long, I was hoping and praying it would come to an end so much, that I didn’t notice just how much of it is already gone. It’s almost winter time. It’s easy to forget in these southern states, since it’s 94 degrees outside today. I remembered that while I was getting dressed this morning. I wonder if it’s cold in Pittsburgh. I’m there in two days. When I get home I have to pack a completely different suitcase for LA the next day. A bigger one, with lighter clothes.

I’m very lucky to have friends in LA already who are excited that I’m moving. That helps. When I get all sad and pained about leaving here, I think about the friends I have there that I miss so much, and realize that we’ll get to see each other again. Some of them have been incredibly helpful about my move. They are taking days off of work to help drive around with me and find places. Many have offered their homes for me to stay while I’m looking. Several others I hardly know but are still offering to help me find living arrangements, giving advice on areas, making plans to meet again after I move.

And you know what’s worse? I keep making new friends. I’ve met some wonderful people in the past few months that have quickly become important people in my life and it’s like we’re just not going to get to do all sorts of things I know we would have done if we had more time.

I want to be excited. Every once in a while I get a bit excited. But now mostly I’m just sad about it. This place is the first city I’ve ever felt I could call Home. I moved so much growing up that I never got attached to a place. And even though I lived in Houston for four years, it’s not really a city you fall in love with. You never really learn the city well enough to call it home when you’re only sixteen. Here I know where most things are, can move around traffic when roads are suddenly closed and still find my way around, have bars and clubs and theaters and restaurants that I love, have a festival that I never miss, and friends I’ve known since I was eighteen.

How strange that what’s leaving Texas with me is my boyfriend of three and a half years, my cat of just a bit longer that was given to me when his owner had to move to California, my cat of much less who was left at a shelter when he was all sick and biting people, and a friend I’ve known since I was a junior in high school. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

Although, right now in that little rhyme, I think I’m the something blue.

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