Let's go back to the middle of March. I got a call about a possible job in Boston. Right, I thought. Like that'll happen, but I said I was interested. Then, a couple weeks later, I got an email about an interview in Boston. OMFG. I'd almost forgotten. I went. It was an adventure. My luggage was lost. I wore day-old clothes to my interview, clothes that I had sprinted through the airport in while trying to catch the second leg of my flight. And let's be honest, I don't glow. I sweat. You can imagine I was not so fresh nor so clean, despite the shower and the $50 spent at CVS that morning on deodorant, toothpaste, and makeup. But apparently it went well because finally, at the end of April, I got an offer. And of course, I accepted it.
So here it is, almost the end of May. I leave on the 30th. I truly didn't know if this time would come. I had wondered over the last couple years if I'd be a Texan for life. Or at least until I got fired and moved back in with my parents in California. And thanks to my great friends, boyfriend, new convertible (which isn't coming with, sadly) and large, cheap apartment here, I was beginning to embrace this land of strip malls and humidity. Now I don't know what to say. Except that I will miss my friends, warm nights and rullll dirty Mexican food. I may have to buy a crock-pot for the sole purpose of making queso.
My last day of work was five years to the day that I arrived in Dallas from California. Last weekend I took a trip to Boston, figured out the city a little, enjoyed the cool weather, and found a sweet apartment by Fenway. I can't wait to not have to drive 30 minutes on a congested highway to go to a baseball game. The irony is that now that I can walk to the stadium, I won't be able to afford a ticket to a game.
The movers come this Friday. Somehow it's cheaper for them to pack every last item in my apartment than for them to deliver me boxes and let me pack myself. Should I be worried about this math of theirs? Whatever. I thought I'd have a checklist of things to do before leaving Texas - places to go, things to photograph, foods to eat. But I don't. At least, nothing is inspiring me or making me sad. Which means I'm ready. Ready, and also completely emotionally shutting it all out. I'll cry like a baby and throw my own pity party when I'm alone in an empty apartment waiting on my furniture and dishes. Or not, after all, there's a bar called Church on my new street. I find that comforting. Now, if only it was called Mega-Church I'd feel right at home. So I'll just have to take a trip back to Texas after I've spent a few months walking everywhere I need to go, lost five pounds doing so, and become sick of the fog. I'll land at DFW, take off my sweatshirt, and drive straight to Fuel City for some barbacoa tacos.
Check out this weather. Who's excited? Just me?
In the coming week I'm going to try to conjure up a nostalgic blog post about the last five years. Stay tuned for some wine-induced feelings.
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