*not a haiku, still good*
Lamenting on the time I’m spending on this futon in this place where I don’t know anyone and have only small glimmers of prospects for any sort of reasonable income seems like a waste of your time as well as mine, but as it stands, that’s what I’m doing because I really have nothing else to do; the job market seems to be laughing at me and my two diplomas with no regard for my well-being.
I am starkly alone most of the day. Even when I venture out of the house, I am bombarded by, though mostly friendly strangers, strangers nonetheless and my interaction with these strangers, though mostly friendly, is not meaningful in a lasting way. I am existing next to other people as opposed to existing with other people.
Clementine is my lone social interaction and mostly, those interactions bookend my day with peacefulness and support, but still, my resolve is dwindling as the calls I get regarding gainful, let alone meaningful employment, are very few and often far between. If not for her I would go mad in this house, mad referring to my mood state, and then eventually referring to my mental state.
The peace I feel around my family and the comfort I have even in new situations with my long lasting friends is 2200 miles away. This is not a point of pity, it’s just a fact. It is my duty to provide stability for myself and in truth, sympathy from loved ones does a small bit to provide it. It’s just that, I had a fine job prior to leaving, and I was having meaningful musical experiences with some of my favorite musical people and now, I have neither. Again, not a point of pity, just a fact. This was fully expected but perhaps not adequately prepared for prior to departure. I’m making inroads on both accounts. Slow and steady.
Aloneness has afforded me opportunities to come face to face with some shortcomings in my playing, my writing, my outlook on life, my health, my habits. I have grown up a little I’m sure, and I’m willing to do a lot more than I was when I was living in a comfortable place. But this isn’t the midwest, its a city with a million people who hail from everywhere in the world and they’re all trying to “do it” here. I’m just one of them.
There is tragedy here too. From 3000 miles away we felt the vibrations of the bombs in Boston. Family and friends on both sides residing in the city left us in a panic as we gathered information. Everyone seems to be safe and sound. Truth be told, we’re reflecting a lot on how difficult it is to experience national tragedy without the support of family. We didn’t lose anyone, but we’re alone here, and we’re thinking about family that is alone out there, and appreciating fully the impact of our families. That on the back of some sour news regarding our potential future travels out of the country. So says the universe, and we start the search for the next adventure.
We live with a view of the highway, the airport, the seaport. We can hear the train and the planes and the cares and the ships all day. It’s this organized thing, not a mess at all, that I love to observe by accident. Honestly, I forget it’s there most of the day. If I do hear something abnormal, I forget about it almost as quickly as I noticed it. It’s comforting actually. I remember that about college. It’s never really quiet, but it’s not bad; it’s kind of nice.
There is exploring to do here. It’s been a bit cold, but seems to be evening out. I’m looking forward to seeing this planet with new eyes.
I’m hopeful to get a few calls this week. Seems like everything just takes a few days longer than I would like here. I’m eating better than I ever have and I’m exercising which is a shock to me as well as I’m sure a shock to those who know me well. We’re figuring out living together, being together, supporting each other, helping each other selflessly, trusting each other, respecting each other. We’re a good team for sure.
My coffee’s getting cold. This futon is uncomfortable. And it’s nice outside. There’s always that. Even when it’s crappy here, it’s nice. Love and good vibrations from the southwest coast.