Snow falling on Seward.
The days are beginning to get longer and longer here in Seward. When I first arrived I found myself eating breakfast in pitch black at 9 a.m. but the daylight is devouring the darkness by about six minutes every day. It’s nice.
We’re supposed to be getting a blizzard but it hasn’t come yet. Maybe the wind will blow it away so it can dump on someone else. 😀
Got a UCF alert on my phone about the Math and Physics building on campus being evacuated due to a suspicious package and felt wistful. Le sigh.
Sorted out a mix-up at the gym this morning, someone accidentally took my XtraTufs at the gym and I didn’t even realize it until I got home that I was wearing someone else’s shoes. I got a text from the owner, she said he had brought them back and I was reunited this morning.
Everyone and their mother has a pair of XtraTufs, the staple shoe of Seward.
Wearing my snowboots today and they’re keeping me toasty warm.
Here I am at my desk, working. Well, pretending to work. Hey, I work, okay? Sometimes.
That’s a big bucket of salt. Well, it was. We need more.
Well. I’m sitting here with a fresh, steaming cup of chai.
After I finish drinking it I have a number of options and obligations:
- do laundry
load the dishwasher
- make a snowman
- collect seashells on the beach
give the paper kids their newspapers(PAPER ISN’T HERE YET. HAD TO TURN ONE KID AWAY. AHHH!)
- cover a chamber of commerce meeting (that’s later tonight)
Can you tell which ones I’d rather be doing?
You can take the girl out of Florida, but you can’t take the Florida out of the girl. Darker colors seem to be the order of the day but pink, blue, purple, yellow, orange and green, these are a few of my favorite things — in hijabs and color schemes.
Loving someone is wanting them around for the rest of your life, even though you know what their farts smell like.
Dear lord. I haven’t had this much hair on my arms since 2004. Every time I think today is the day I cook up a pot of sugar wax, my body says, “Shut up. I’m cold.”
A nice little housewife, who’ll give me a steady life and not keep going off the rails.
I want a journalism job that wants me back. A job that I can throw myself into and feel rewarded by at the end of the day. A job that won’t follow me home. Well, that last part is wishful thinking. I’ve never done anything well except that I made it me.
That line from “Say Hello Wave Goodbye” always makes me wistful. I used to want to be the housewife. I know now I’m never going to be just a nice little housewife. But I do want a steady life, or some semblance of it. Uncertainty is scary. Uncertainty is the only certainty.
I don’t want to pick up the phone at 3 a.m. weeping about being unemployed.
I’m so scared the internships won’t mean anything, references won’t mean anything, recommendations won’t mean anything, that everything I’ve ever learned or know won’t mean anything because there will always be someone better.
I’m scared that someone better will always be Someone Not Me.
I’m scared that I’m never going to have health insurance and the snotty receptionist at the dentist is going to keep looking at me like a criminal because I always pay in cash. I’m scared I’m never going to have my own vacuum lines on the carpet or cups of tea in the morning with a newspaper.
I’m scared I’m never going to have anything that is truly mine from making my own way.
I’ve always had an affection for plain, practical Charlotte Lucas in Pride and Prejudice. Oh, to be mistress of my own home and not a burden.
Seward is in a time capsule. Little kids still deliver the paper. And they’re so irresistibly adorable. I interviewed the police chief and he said the little girl shows no mercy when she stops by the police department, newspapers in hand, eyes beseeching him to start or renew a subscription.
After the interview, I walked along the beach over a million black stones. Trailing towers of mist clung to the mountains and the sun glowed hazy through the vapor.
I picked up a little rock speckled with green with a jagged line cutting through like a mouth. I thought it looked like a dinosaur head. Or Godzilla. It reminded me of someone who would like it very much.
The tide was out and barnacles and seaweed clung to the rocks while seagulls and seabirds bobbed in the bay and ravens fought over morsels of food and called out to one another.
There were a couple of families dotting the beachline in groups of two or three, holding on to a little child’s hand as they walked along, crouching a few times to examine the brilliant purple shells that washed up on shore.
I’ve stories to write — complicated, unglamourous stories — and the panic is starting to burble a little in my throat but I will hack away, away, away at the stories and they will get done.
Monday is my favorite day of the week because the newspaper is soundly in bed. I’ve begun to detest Fridays and the weekends. How’s that for a change of pace?
Every time I swear, this is the last story I ever write, the process is too miserable, as soon as the stories are out I think, “Oh. That wasn’t too bad. I think I can do it again.”
Two years ago today, I signed my name to the biggest mistake of my life.
I can’t say I regret getting married. I can’t say I regret the hope and the heartbreak and everything that lead up to that moment and everything that followed, because it would not have put me in this exact moment in space and time.
In this exact moment in space and time, I am content and happy. I am free and buoyant and not tied down to an abyss of despair in human form.
Had that chain of events not happened, I perhaps would not have found someone who makes my heart and eyes feel warm and soft whenever I look at them.
There is someone written for us even before the pieces of our souls are housed in human form. I always thought I would find someone who would remind me of religion. I found someone who reminds me of God.
I hope every person with a broken soul finds the one carrying the missing piece.
Sab kuch teekh ho jayaga.
Everything will be all right in the end.
Went to a church with my editor and her husband for a Shrove Tuesday pancake dinner. As we piled into the car, fat, fluffy flakes of snow clung to the windshield and melted in the fur lining of my jacket hoodie. I caught snippets of President Obama’s State of the Union address as we drove down the icy, slushy roads toward downtown.
While we were tucking away at pancakes and steaming bowls of slow-cooked applesauce I felt a timid tap on my shoulder.
I turned to look and found a little girl standing next to my chair.
She smiled shyly.
“You look lovely,” she said.