Space. Or lack thereof.

I knew coming down here that the primary obstacle would be the question of space.

I have always enjoyed having my own space. I like my alone time, and I like living alone. I never wanted roommates, and haven't had any since I left Semple Street in South Oakland after I graduated from college.

So I am taking a fully furnished one-bedroom apartment and moving into an already furnished apartment with 3 other people. We first loaded all my things into the basement, and bringing up boxes I need one by one to unpack. I am constantly asking myself, "where can this fit?" and, in all honesty, "where do I fit?" I am trying to figure out where I fit within this family and culture that is much more insular than my own. With each item I cannot find space for, this rug and that picture frame, it feels like a piece of me that isn't fitting in.

This is my doing, not anyone else's. D and his family have opened their arms and their home to me, and I am grateful to them for it. But that is the thing, it is their home. When, if ever, will it feel like my home too? The problem is that I don't know how long I am staying. A few months? I don't really know. Things are so up in the air right now, it is hard to make concrete plans. Even if just a month or two, shouldn't I still unpack and hang pictures?

Well, for now it is just one step, one box, at a time.

How much does this cost?

I saw THE BEST store yesterday:

"Everything More Than $1.00"

Yes, can you believe it? A store where everything they sell costs more than ONE dollar! Incredible! How funny is that? I wished I had my camera with me. Dammit.

Interravision: Now Live from Long Island!

I am here!

The move was stressful. U-Haul was a joke...they should call it U-Don't-Mean-Shit-To-Us-Even-Though-You-Are-Paying-A-Fortune-
To-Rent-Our-Crappy-Trucks.

Yes, they should call it that. I will spare the details though. They are neither interesting nor funny.

I am here!

We rolled into Long Island well after 1am last night and had to take a complex maze of streets to get home since you can't drive trucks on the parkways. We left all the boxes in the truck and just went right to sleep, both of us exhaused. Damir from loading the entire truck himself, me from the nightmarish drive through flooded CT.

I am unemployed and living in Long Island with my boyfriend of 5 months and his immigrant parents who don't speak english.

This is going to be Very Interesting.

The parents were asleep when we got home, but both greeted me warmly in the morning. D's dad, Suco, told me (via D's interpreting) that I can use his car whenever I like. This is a big deal since he doesn't let ANYONE drive his car. It is his way of accepting me into the household.

When D isn't around, conversations with the parents are an interesting combination of broken english, broken croatian and erratic gestures. Somehow it works, sure, it's awkward, but it works well enough. As long as you aren't asking anything more complicated than "are you hungry?" and "where is the sugar?" We won't be breaking out in political debate any time soon.

I have contacted the local Berlitz office to get information on a crash course in croatian. That would be very helpful, I think. I just am not getting far with my books and CDs that I bought from Barnes and Noble a few weeks ago. The problem there is that I hate the voice of one of the instructors. She is so hard to understand and doesn't ennunciate at all. I get so annoyed I can't focus on learning the vocab. Ash suggested getting a tutor on craigslist, I might do that as well.

I am proud just to get all the names down in the family... Suco (pronounced SU-cho), Sabrija (saBRIEya), Hitta, Sedika, Zorz (Gorge), Miro, Ennis, Sayo, Mecha, Villa, Selma, and Aunt Peggy (PEG-gie) to name a few. Oh, and Elvis. Can't forget Elvis!

Well, there is a truck waiting to be unloaded with my name on it. Since I have no job at the moment and a brand new subscription to T-Mobile's hotspot wireless, you will see lots more posts here at Interravision: Live from Long Island!

Every New Begining...

As I was getting ready for work on Wednesday morning, my last day of work, that song came on, Closing Time by Semisonic. It was popular a while back, and I remembered hearing it over and over before moving to Amsterdam. I hadn't heard it in forever, and it made me stop and smile. Every new begining comes from some other begining's end...

Since the birth of Interravision I have refrained from discussing, except in general detail, the nitty gritty of my job. There were a couple of reasons for that. First, it's not all that fun to blog about. Second, knowing that some of my coworkers, and the staff that worked for me were reading along, made it seem inappropriate. It also just didn't seem professional and I didn't want to get Dooced.

Now that this particular chapter of my life has come to a close, it is natural to feel inclined to summarize, euologize, and wax poetic about the place that ruled most of the days of my life for the past 9 years. Lord knows there are stories to tell. Some of them are dammed good, if I do say so myself.

But for some reason, I am not ready to do that yet. Maybe I am denial that I find my self rather unemployed (though I prefer to use the term: freelance). Maybe I have too many boxes left to pack and my brain is too crowded with a long to-do list to sit.

Maybe it's all just not that important. It was just... a job. There will be many others. But man, sometimes that was one crazy place to be.

T Minus 5

I have started again and again this blog posting today. None of my ideas are sticking.

I want to tell you about the emails I am going through. The thousands of emails stored in my inbox that recount the story of a thousand failures and successes. The correspondence of friends. The stories of others. I miss letters. Letters are easier to take with you, at least in some ways.

I just came across the emails written to and from me in the moments after September 11. They are unbearable to read, still today.

T Minus 6

My house is in chaos. Boxes are everywhere. I took some pictures so you could see evidence of this chaos, but my camera cord appears to be in one of those boxes. Or somewhere. Maybe.

I sold a bunch of things, but still have a lot left. I sold my bed, Ektorp chair, my lamps, my amsterdam dishes, a set of silverware, and a few DVDs. I'd still like to sell my couch and rug, but I won't sell them for less than I think they're really worth. They can fit on the U-Haul on Sunday if necessary. A few things I thought I would sell, my bookcase and some artwork, I decided to keep afterall.

When a cute couple bought my comfy chair this weekend, the first of my big items to sell, I wanted to cry. That's my chair! I earned that chair! I've loved that chair. It's stupid, I know. This is all a very big deal to me, and for the moment there feels like more loss than gain. Though I know that tide will turn when the move is over and the reasons I am moving are more present than future.

This is a week of goodbyes, with plans with various friends and family each night. That reminds me, I should store some tissues in my purse. I have a feeling I will need them.

Countdown

As a man named Jorg was sifting through my things and making me various offers on my belongings, it hit me. I really am leaving. He ended up buying my trashcan of all things, I sold it to him for $10. Now I don't have a trashcan.

* * *

I am in a state of panic. Not about leaving my apartment or job, but about saying goodbye to people. I usually go out of my way to NOT say goodbye to people, even (to my immense shame) to my friend who passed away last year. I know I will be back, I know I will be here for visits. But its not the same now, is it?

* * *

I am excited about the future. I have applied to such a variety of things to work on. I have decided to study for the NYC Guide Licensing Exam (not easy!). Last night I applied to work at the Metropolitan Museum of Art as a visitor coordinator and as a VP of Ops for a travel company. It's stunning to me how radically different my choices are. What road lies ahead?

* * *

I have never moved myself, with anything more than a car full of crap. My moves to and from Amsterdam were completely orchestrated by the company. I didn't pack a thing. Lift a thing. Move a thing. Bliss. I look around my apartment at my stuff and it already feels like I am sitting on someone else's couch. Last night I was careful not to spill. Where do I get boxes??