Give It Up!

My last day at Target was on the 1^st. Always nice to end a job with holiday pay. Kinda makes the 8 ½ hour shift drift by a bit more smoothly. Then, the plan was to leave early morning on January 2^nd. Well, this was Beau’s plan, but I had my doubts. I’ve been through so many of these moves, that even with the best of intentions, leaving on time almost never happens.

So we got up somewhat early, I guess. We started packing the car. It’s a Honda Civic which is just what I like – small, reliable, good gas mileage. Of course, “small,” is fantastically unhelpful when you’re trying to stuff two individual’s entire mass of possessions within the walls and trunk of a diminutive car. But even I was surprised at just how fast our bags (enormous pieces of luggage we lugged to and from New Zealand) filled up the car. Looking in the living room where our remaining bags still stood, as well as the hastily-stuffed trash bags of those odds and ends you just can’t pack ‘til the last moment, I began to get a bit depressed. In the past 10 months, I have moved from New York to Missouri to New Zealand to Milwaukee and now getting ready for Montana. And of course, Beau was a part of the Missouri—New Zealand—Milwaukee—Montana moves. As I’ve previously mentioned, each time, in particular the Missouri to New Zealand move, we had to sell/give away/throw out copious amounts of personal possessions, including ALL furniture, almost anything that was bulky or heavy, boxes and boxes of books and bags and bags of clothes. It just sucks.

You go through these tiers – the first tier isn’t so bad – the dress you haven’t worn for a couple years, that book that’s been sitting on the shelf, untouched, that present you got that you never liked anyway. Each tier after that, it gets harder. You start separating your clothes into “like,” “really like,” and “have to keep” piles. You start looking at your large collection of t-shirts and wonder if they are ALL necessary (“but but but this one is from high school, and this one is from that great concert, and this one is from my trip to Sweden!”).

It’s about this time, the third tier, that things get really painful. You start making throw-out piles of things you really DO like. That great book you’ve never read, but always sincerely intended to. That beautiful dress you just love, but just haven’t had that many opportunities to wear. All your expensive camping gear that’s unrealistic to take with you. That awesome TV you splurged on. Those neat bags you brought back from Thailand. More piles of clothes, more boxes of books, more furniture. After this goes on and on, and you have a good cry or two, you shock yourself by still being “stuck” with about a dozen boxes of things like photographs, a minimal wardrobe, a few treasured books, cd’s, and dvd’s, and a group of mementos – things you’ve collected over the years from trips, loved ones, and various life experiences that you’re not willing to pitch.

And you know, I've done this now FOUR times (one being more minor than the rest) since March 2006 and I'm damn tired of it. I just don't want to throw ANYTHING away anymore.

Then comes the next painful part. Shipping. One blessing of the US Post Office is their “book/sheet music” rate which allows you to ship those back-breaking boxes of books at a much cheaper rate than the regular truck or sea rate. Of course, I have never failed to slightly manipulate that. I do honestly stuff a box with as many books as I can, but books, naturally not being all the same size, leave gaps in the box, and when you are trying to take as much shit with you as possible, you’re not going to just tape up that box and send it with all that free space floating in there! So, out comes all the little thingie-ma-bobs you can jam in between the books. Sure, technically they’re not BOOKS or SHEET MUSIC, but hey! Is it really SUCH a crime?

I did make one big mistake on our move to New Zealand though. Like many women, I’m a bit of a candle freak, particularly with lovely little candle holders which typically hold a tea light candle. Due to this, I’ve always got a fat bag of tea light candles in a drawer in my house (you can get like 200 from Walgreen’s for like 2 bucks!). Well, I had just packed a book box, and found the sides had these thin lines of empty space. What a perfect place to simply drop in those little tea lights! It was like playing Plink-O on The Price is Right. Then, I placed it in the back seat of my car, along with another box, each I planned to ship on one of my lunch hours when I had enough time and cash. Well, that was the Missouri summer, which is absolutely fucking miserable in its heat and humidity. What happened to those cute little tea lights in the box in the backseat? Of course, they melted, spreading slimy wax across the box. I still tried to send it – and the postal worker basically…went postal and gave me a big fat annoying lecture. Ordered me home to re-pack the box in a new box. FINE!

So, ANYWAY, back to the latest move – there we were that chilly Milwaukee morning, realizing pretty quickly that we weren’t going to be able to get it ALL in that car. So, you do what you have to do, you start jamming stuff into every crack and hole that’s left, and you decide what ELSE you can live without. Our Christmas tree, our cat’s crate, and other various odds and ends (including more clothes) went to the “whomever wants it can have it” pile, and my heart broke a little when we lugged a suitcase filled with photo albums and Beau’s beloved banjo up to the attic, to be once again pushed into a dark and dusty corner to be retrieved another day. I REALLY had wanted to leave my mother’s house totally clean, with not a single possession left in her cavernous attic that I would be reminded of every now and then. But oh well, you do what you have to do.

So, sometime around 2pm I shoved the frightened and furious cat under one arm, and slung the “stuff you need on the road” bag over the other, climbed into my very tight passenger seat (it had to be pushed forward to allow more room for stuff in the backseat), and we set out. With each mile, I felt my body get lighter and lighter. Living with my mother for about five weeks, working at Target, and just waiting for Beau had been incredibly stressful for me. And though I was embarking on this new phase of my life with some apprehension (no jobs, no house, not much money), I felt a kind of relief and happiness flow through me, as if I had been let out of a cage. Beau felt it too.

And so began our 3-day-ish journey to Montana. It gets a little bit more exciting from here on out. Kinda.

We’ll Be Home for Christmas? - Part II

Author's note: Back in New Zealand in our little village, I didn't have internet access on my laptop, just occasional access via the school's computers (which had the most rigid, militant controls i have EVER seen on a network). So, I wrote all my blogs in Word with the hopes of future postings, until about two months later when I got one of those USB drives. Because of this, my blogs were all backed up, so every blog you have read from New Zealand probably actually happened anywhere from 2-5 weeks before I posted it. I know. Awful. It's like I'm cheating. Suffice it to say, I am ALMOST caught up now -- as I am currently in Milwaukee, Wisconsin , working an icky seasonal job in a retail store (details later), and climbing the walls as I wait for Beau to arrive this Sunday.

So, here we are, now "fast forwarding," though in reality, going backwards, to when I arrived in Milwaukee in mid-November 2006. Confused yet?
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(November 15, 2006)
So, I'm back! But the sad thing, is that I'm back alone. Hold the phone gentle reader, it's no tragic tale. Beau has to stick it out in NZ until mid-December when his contract (and the school year) ends. I decided to rush back to the U.S. ASAP to try and get some holiday work, instead of twiddling my thumbs in New Zealand and just being dead weight. It looks like I arrived a couple weeks too late as several places told me they already hired their holiday help, damnit! But, despite this, I did nab a job as a "team member" at Target, Tar-zhay, The Bullseye Boutique, or as my friend calls it, her "happy place." I agree. It's no career move, but it's a quick way to make some cash so by the time Beau gets here we have a little bit more to move with.

And where are we moving to? Montana. Beau SERIOUSLY wanted to move back to Montana, his home state. That's really fine with me, I hear great things about Montana and I know it's beautiful. My only stipulation was that it had to be a big city (as big as one can get in Montana). I know now that living in a small town may have its quaint advantages, but it just doesn't work for me, and literally, it has no work opportunities for me. I need to be in a good-sized city that has administrative or educational positions. So, Missoula it is. And my former flight attendant friend informs me that it's a pretty place and just like a mini-Madison, Wisconsin which is great news to me since Madison is one of my favorite places I've ever lived. I like college towns.

Oh, and right now I'm in Milwaukee at my mother's house. Yeah....33 years old and living with my mother. This feels pretty crappy. Furthermore, the relationship between my mother and I is strained at the best of times and since it's just the two of us now (and her sacred cat), I'm feeling mighty uncomfortable. At least it should only be 'til right after the holidays, but STILL!

I'm actually sleeping in my sister's twin bed, and get this, it's a loft! It's like sleeping in a bunk bed's top bunk. So every night, I climb up into the thing and use a long broken handle of some cleaning tool to turn out the light switch by the door. In the middle of the night when I have to use the loo, I slowly slide off the edge of the bed, hands gripping the mattress, legs dangling above the ground, and in one brave moment, plop down to the ground with a muted thud. I feel like I'm twelve. Lord.

I know I did this, this leaving Beau behind and rushing back to the U.S., mainly for money. We spent thousands to move to New Zealand, thinking it was "forever," and it's going to cost a whole lot to come back. All those boxes to send, the plane tickets, the cat (FUCK, it's another dramatic and financially-crippling disaster getting her back), selling our car, etc. etc. etc. And now we have to start over, AGAIN, in a new city, both of us jobless and homeless. This used to be exciting for me, now it's just exhausting and terrifying. I'm not 22 gallivanting around Europe with my Eurrail pass and a just enough francs for bread and a hostel in my pocket anymore. I'm rapidly approaching my 34th birthday with no hint of a career, no house on the horizon, no plans for kids anytime soon, student loan debt that produces a gasp in anyone I mention the grand total to, and again, no money. Working at Target for a month or two may get us some precious cash for our move to the great north, but I think I should admit to myself there's more going on here.

A part of me feels guilty, like a tiny voice inside my head that says, "Money wasn't the ONLY reason you left. Money in and of itself is never the only reason you do anything, otherwise you wouldn't always be so broke." This is true. When I lay awake at night, up in that ridiculous loft bed, alone, and missing Beau, a part of me just wants to apologize. Maybe, deep down in me, past the part with the good intentions, past the part that said, "Okay, we can go back to the United States," past the part that puts on the brave face and tries to think positively about Montana (despite my aversion to living in extreme climates), way down there at the bottom is that angry, vengeful side of myself. The part that says, "Beau, you made us leave. New Zealand was our big dream, a dream we made come true. I could hardly believe it myself; I was ecstatic, on top of the world. Sure, we didn't land in an ideal location there, but we knew that going in. You ripped us away from there. You stayed there for just six months before throwing in the towel. Now i have to move to a cold place, that yes, may be beautiful, but where we have no prospects and no home. (Plus, we'll be near my in-laws, YUCK!!!). I never ever wanted to leave New Zealand, just that tiny little village we were in. I wanted to move to Dunedin and get a house and have my garden and get a job at the University of Otago and eat lunch at that great Asian food court and stare at the gorgeous blue blue water every single day of my life. Now, for love, and yes, willingly and by my own choice, I am leaving all this behind. Fine! Fine! Then you can stay here and finish out this damn contract. I'm going back early. You can clean up the mess. All that packing and shipping and cat bureaucratic shit I had to take care of by myself when you left for New Zealand without me, now YOU can handle it all on the way back! I'll get work, make some money, but part of me is punishing you for doing this to me. The selfish part of me is angry, and very very sad."

It's an ugly, ugly side of myself that I'm ashamed of, and yet, here i am writing it all out in my blog. Masochistic dork. Furthermore, punishing Beau, even if only from a tiny part of me, is idiotic considering I think I am suffering even more than he is from the separation. Not to mention the tension between my mother and I is making me homicidal. I just think I have to face up to that part of myself, even if it's deep down and only surfaces occasionally late at night as I lie awake in bed. That guilt that slaps me in the face and says, "You are not so noble! You may have done this for love, and you may really be okay with it, but you are not all-forgiving!"

I am flawed.

21 more days 'til Beau arrives. As Elvis Costello sang, "God, give me strength!"
Note: In reality, he NOW arrives in 4 days. *cough*