I have been flooded with memories lately. Strong images like after I've awoken from an especially vivid dream. Weird.
People. Places. Times. Situations. Feelings.
Weird.
Tonight, at a red light on the way here, I was washed over with the feeling I've had before of being alone in a strange place... perhaps travelling, maybe the feeling I've had when I've just moved into a new town. Driving, at night... all you see is lights... brake lights, tail lights, head lights, traffic lights... all very cold and distant... the feeling is of isolation with an undergirding of fear. There are people all around but you can see none of them. Not one person knows you or cares where you came from, where you're headed, if you will make it there okay... scary. I felt that when I was 23, driving in the middle of the night from Baton Rouge headed to Tulsa to visit a friend at Oral Roberts University. I got lost around Texarkana, where 49 and 20 and Shreveport all meet, intermingle, and confuse. Scary. I was crying.
But I made it. Obviously; it's about 10 years later now and here I am. Ironically, I know that conjugation of interstates and roads well enough now, having driven so many times between here and Dallas... went north on I-49 and turned left at Shreveport, getting onto I-20 after a connection or two.
I encountered that same feeling when I was new to the huge city of Dallas, Texas. It's a kind of take-your-breath-away knot in your stomach that actually provides a sort of rush for me. I crave that feeling. I guess I'm bored with my life lately. I crave that sense of newness, of feeling unsure and a little insecure but holding, at the same time, a shaky confidence.
I am so sick of living in Baton Rouge. Carrie and I have talked about moving to Austin one day. Of course, back in reality land, we can't just pick up and do that tomorrow... but as soon as she says she's ready, I'm going to race her to the car and win. hehe...
I don't even care... Atlanta... Chicago... I was thinking today of how much I would love to live in California. I would LOVE to live in California.
Dare to dream. I feel so pressed and cloistered by the demands of life. As I've blogged about before, it all seems to boil down to money. I need to save up. Pay stuff off. Always, always, I need a better job. My temp assignment right now pays me a whopping NINE DOLLARS AN HOUR... I console myself with the thought that my hourly rate become $13.50 once I pass the 40-hour mark. Which I do, by far, every week.
And this is just temporary; I work for a clean-up-after-several-hurricanes recovery group. Initially it was a month or three assignment. I'm looking for higher paying work behind the scenes anyway.
I'm rambling. I just have a lot to say and no one to say it to. I drank a beer, took a nap, and woke up with a lot on my mind. I'm now sitting on a padded bench at CC's on Burbank Ave. This is my favorite seat here. I'm at the right end of this long bench. To the left of me is a painted metal pole/column that contains power cords or somesuch nonsense... and then, past that, are other people. So no one is close to me. I actually feel old, often, in this CC's because it is so freaking full of LIKEs and OMIGODs and like... totally... undergrad college students in their early 20's.
I miss being in my early 20's. Life is a huge mystery awaiting you, and you're at the very beginning of the road of your life. I will turn 33 the day after Thanksgiving this year.
I could find a new way to feel about life in its current form. I suppose it's my decision, how I choose to perceive the world. (Do you know that every time I type the word "perceive" I pause and recite "i-before-e-except-after-c" in my head... just one of my quirks, heh...)
Being here tonight reminds me of living in Dallas, very close to Richardson and Addison. 5850 Belt Line Rd apt 706, my favorite place to live while I was in Texas and the only place I lived in Texas where Mandie never lived with me. Times were good. I was dating Gerri who lived an hour and a half north in Sanger and was also always working nights so I had plenty of time on my hands. Most evenings I would end up in one of several nearby Starbucks locations. It became my own kind of little retreat and niche of comfort.
Sometimes I feel like I talk too much. Carrie is so nice because she says she loves to hear me talk. The last person I dated told me often to stop talking; that she preferred silence. Preferring to hush than quabble over it, I hushed. Whatever. It's nice to be offered... verbal freedom... once more, though I do kind of feel like a freshly hatched little bird... exploring an environment I had been walled off from, and awkwardly learning what my legs are for.
I'm ending this now. If anyone reads it, hopefully you found it entertaining. Hasta manana, muchachas.
