the first of many

Today, I said my first of many goodbyes. With little more than two weeks remaining to the move, goodbye's are inevitable. But no one can ever really comprehend just how hard they are until you're living through them.

And I suck at goodbyes. I draw them out. I make them longer than they need to be. I talk more, talk faster. I linger.

By some miracle of miracles, I was able to get in today to get my hair cut, even though I had only called yesterday. My hair has been in a ponytail every day for the past 2 months. It's at a horrible length with no real style. So, it was in desperate need.

So, I know, big deal, you just said goodbye to your hair dresser. But she's the hair dresser I've been going to since I started 6th grade. And now, here I am, years later, and I'm still seeing her, right before I start graduate school. I told her today that I would come home specifically to have her cut my hair - no one else will ever do.

I love her because 1) she's awesome at what she does 2) she is the sweetest person in the world 3) she loves to travel and talk about it in turn 4) she gossips 5) she listens well 6) I trust her 7) she's cheaper than therapy.

In preparation for the rest of the goodbyes I'm destined to say in the next two weeks, I lingered over this goodbye to her. This sweet, good, wonderful woman who's been in my life for these past however many years. Who's seen me through hairstyles - long, short, somewhere in the middle. And all of life's milestones in between those.

I will miss her.

And it really sucked saying goodbye to her.

Just like it's really going to suck saying goodbye to all of the rest of the people who have touched my life, no matter how big or how small.

Goodbye's are never easy. But I don't know that they're meant to be this hard.

*above photo: august 2008

my hair will never look

like that again.

this winding road

"If you don't know where you're going, any road will get you there."

Lewis Carroll

In the midst of all of this stress, this is the quote that provides this perfectionist with a modicum of comfort. Even if I have no idea where it is I'm going or where it is I hope to end up, it does not matter which road I take, which choices I make (or don't) I'll end up there.

Eventually.

I hope.

But for now, in the midst of all of this amazing stress that has been tacked on in one day, less than 12 hours, actually, I'm going to hold on tightly to the belief that in the end, I'll get to where I need to go. No matter the road I take to get there.

*photo taken august, 2008

mykonos, greece.

the story of sniglet

Sunday morning, at approximately the crack of dawn (which, I personally consider any time before 10:30 AM) I was awoken by a loud, strange meowing sound coming from the living room. The sound my lovely little cat usually makes when she's caught a lizard or some other slithering creature of the sort.

So, I stumbled out into the living room, trying to prepare myself for what exactly I would find. I found her in the middle of the living room, her paws locked around something I couldn't quite see. Whatever it was, she was trying to gnaw on it. Though fearing what I might find - blood and guts of some poor creature for one - I crept closer and closer to her.

And there, in the middle of the living room, in her ferocious grips was a piece of a chocolate chip cookie.

A chocolate chip cookie that she most definitely did not want to give up.

And that is just a glimpse into every day life with my absolutely crazy, 3 pound tabby cat named Sniglet.

When I was about 7/8 (? dates are not my strong suit) my mom wanted a new cat. So, off to the farm my dad and I went to pick her out a new kitten.

At first sight of this cute little tabby cat, with white feet and a perfect white tip on her tail, I knew that she was the one I wanted and no other kitten would do. Of course, she was the one who didn't want to come home with us. My dad chased her throughout the entire farm - through the milk barn and through the barn filled with calves. She did not want to leave.

Eventually, she surrendered and we brought her home with us, as a new cat for my mother. Who named her Maxwell.

Maxwell just didn't seem to fit this wild kitten, though. She went through many nicknames, but it was my little brother who finally dubbed her name. Piglet was transformed into Sniglet and voila! Sniglet stuck and she's been that ever since.

Well, along with Snigs, Baby, Baby Cat, Missy Moo, Bubba, Sniggles, etc.

As it happens with most cats, Sniglet chose her own person to belong to. And she just so happened to pick me.

This cat is constantly by my side. She greets me at the door when I come home from work. She falls asleep at my side and it's always to her I wake up to in the morning. Normally, it's her annoying the hell out of me so I get up to give her morning milk.

She's ever faithful. Quick to forgive and forget. And is addicted to milk. And catnip.

It is this little cat - all 3 pounds of her - that makes my life happier and brighter. I know that's a big responsibility for a little cat, but I think she's up to the challenge. She's pretty tough.

I am certainly glad that is her that will be making the move with me. It'll be nice to have someone greet me at the door when I come home.

It might actually make it feel more like a home with her there.

Besides, who wouldn't want to come home to this cute little face?

sinking

As I stood in my boss' office one evening last week it began to sink in that I really am moving away in four-ish weeks.

He sat at his desk, going over my paycheck trying to figure out just what kind of 401K I have so that I would know what kind of IRA I needed to roll it over into and I stood behind him, silently freaking out that moments such as these were quickly coming to an end.

And I was thinking just how damn much I would miss the man in front of me when I move.

I realize that to most it's an odd thing for me to say that I will miss my boss. But, for me, he will be one of the people I miss the most when I move. He's been a permanent, present fixture in my life for the past 3.5 years and it's going to be hard to give that up.

Honestly, we clash on most things. He's a conservative, I'm a liberal (a wacko liberal as he so lovingly calls). He likes plaid, I like polka dots. He prefers decaf, I prefer regular.

Even in our similarities we often butt heads. He's ridiculously stubborn, as am I. He's overly sarcastic and I am as well.

And yet, somehow, through all of those things that should potentially keep us from getting along, I have found in him a good friend and a mentor. It is his advice I value most (except on politics, of course). I go to him when I'm in crisis. I go to him when I'm in need of a financial advisor. I go to him just when I need to chat or need someone to relay my latest crazy dream or encounter to.

I know I drive him endlessly crazy. He does the same to me in return. But I honestly cannot imagine these past 3.5 years of my life without him. Or where, exactly, I would be if I hadn't waltzed right into his life.

It is in large part thanks to him that I have a relationship with my father. I have him to credit for my confidence to pursue a maters in nonprofit management. He also gives me the best financial advice and spurs on my love of travel with his own passion.

He makes me more confident, more adventurous, smarter, more courageous, less apt to be so extreme. In short, he makes me better.

So, yes, I will miss my boss. I will miss him thinking I am a crazy, left-winged liberal and telling me how horrible Obama is. I will miss his sarcastic remarks. I will miss the way he laughs at practically everything I say and holds me to a higher standard.

But most of all, I will just miss him.

*above photo was taken in 2006.

during cocktails on the veranda.

where i was forced to dance.

to 'at last' by etta james.

'twas a wonderful night.

skipping down memory lane

I've been feeling rather nostalgic.

As I move closer towards a huge life change, I've been craving the past. Not just one moment in time when life was good and happy and seemed as it would stretch on that way forever, but for all of those little, happy moments that have made up my past. Each and every one I wish to relive and savor.

I realize that I'm romanticising the past. There were probably more downs than ups, but as you move forward, you forget the bad and hold onto the good. There have been many years of my life that have just plain sucked, but there have been moments sprinkled in there that have made everything worth it. Every single bad memory has been made up by the good.

It's in those good memories that I'm reminiscing over lately. It's much easier to remember those good than look forward to the unknown.

I do not do well with change. I am a creature of habit. I dread change. I fight it kicking and screaming. I'd do just about anything within my power to make sure everything stays exactly as it is.

But, I realize change is inevitable. It's a part of life. And so, I have to move forward. I have to make this change to better myself.

It just sucks.

I have moved once before. 10 years ago. 2000 some miles from north to south. In the middle of 6th grade and it was, by far, the hardest thing I have ever done.

I had lived my life with the same people since I was 4 years old. Gone through every milestone with them until then and leaving them behind was hard. Beyond hard. It truly is like leaving a piece of yourself behind.

So, I'm trying to relive those moments spent with them. Laying in the grass on summer days, trying to come up with something else to do. Crossing all the railroad bridges with them by my side. Biking all over creation. Running through sprinklers and careening down slip 'n' slides. Eating cherries off the tree in the neighbor's backyard. Dancing around streetlamps at night. Starting the first day of school with them to hold me down. Crying with them in the rain the morning I moved away.

Those sweet, hopeful memories of girls I loved as my own sisters. It's easy to savor them all - to want to go back in time and soak up their laughs, the smells, the heat of summer and the feel of prickly grass.

When I moved here, I never thought this would become my home. But slowly, over many years, it did become my home. It became the place I loved with people I loved even more.

The people are what makes the place - the friends.

The friends I have made here have become my family. Their families have become my family.

And they are what I will remember when I move away. I'll yearn for the days of skipping school. Sleepovers and drives to find Old Man Hawkins at 4 am. Laughing and dreaming. Parties (especially surprise birthday parties - see above) and dinners out. I'll miss it all.

I already do.

it's in the little things

It goes without saying that when I move in less than 6 weeks I will miss my friends, my family, my work, my town. But as time ticks closer to moving day, I'm beginning to realize all of the small things that make up the life that I love here and just how hard it is going to be to say goodbye to all of those simple, small, mundane things. While seemingly insignificant those are the things that carve out my life here.

The things I will miss more than words can say.

It's easy to focus on the fact that I will miss being 15 minutes away from my best friend who, at the drop of a hat, will bring me medicine for my killer migraine. That's a given.

But, I will also miss going into my local Subway and knowing that I don't have to say a word, they already know my order. It'll be a hardship not to know the people behind the counter, who poke fun of me for said order and always chat business with me.

I'm moving to a town where I've only been twice, probably for a collective 3 hours spread over those two visits. Where everything is (oddly) painted the same color and I don't know where a dang thing is. I'll have to learn my surroundings. Find a local Target, grocery store, everything. And while all of that is obviously to be expected when you move to a new town, it's going to be hard not to see the same people. It's going to be hard not to go to Publix for my donut fix and hope that the girl at the bakery doesn't recognize me. Even though she does every single time but pretends not to notice my addiction.

In 6 weeks, I will be unemployed and despite how much I complain about my job and am so ridiculously tired of working 6-day weeks, I am going to miss my work. My coworkers and my bosses. I've spent the past 3.5 years there. 4 birthdays and 3 years of college.

Obviously, after you've spent 3.5 years some place, it's going to be hard to leave it all behind. I know that. It's just that I've come to realize how hard it'll be to do without the little things at work: the familiar handwriting of my coworkers; Honeynut Cheerios every morning; hotel pens with caps on them; impromptu chats (sometimes political debates) with my boss; the click of my name tag; the swivel of my chair; the faceless voices of all of the other front desk clerks I talk to on a daily basis.

And there's so much more. There are bigger things, of course, and much smaller, so that's only a sampling of all those little things that have been weighing on my mind recently about what, exactly, I'm leaving behind in 6 weeks.

I feel as though it's taken me 10 years to create this life. In a city I love, surrounded by people and places I adore. While the people will stick with me, those sweet, small things will slowly fade away into the noise of my history and wont carry me through. But they have, in their own simple and unique ways, created the life I have led here and though I know I'll probably forget the girl from the bakery at Publix or the scrawl of a coworker, I will not forgot the feeling of how all of these things have created a life for me.

They have created a home.

you know life's not fair when...

...your parents call you from Juno, Alaska telling you they're just waiting for the 4th of July parade to begin while you're stuck at work.

what happens once you find your first apartment

It seems as though most things in my life become an ordeal.

This whole apartment thing seems to be no different. I think I just happen to me a magnet for this type of thing. I wish I would attract something better than silly mishaps and confusion. Say, cute boys? But alas, ordeals are what always seem to find me.

I thought that finding the apartment would be the hard part.

But, no. That actually seemed pretty easy. That should have been my first clue that what followed would not be so easy.

It's everything that's come after it that seems to be the difficult part.

The following is everything that happens after you get approved for that first apartment. [warning: it ain't pretty!]

Tuesday

I called to check on my application, since I mailed it off to them rather than drive 3.5 hours just to drop it off.

Apartment lady says: "oh, you're approved."

Then apartment lady proceeds to tell me that due to the summer special they were running, apartments are going fast and in order to secure one, I need to put down a deposit and fast. Especially since I am difficult and absolutely must have an apartment on the second floor.

Problem? I was leaving for Georgia on Wednesday (the next day). I tell apartment lady that I can come Saturday to look at the apartment I'll be getting and put down the deposit.

After about a dozen calls to and from the apartment on Tuesday, including talking to the manager, it's decided that I can come on Friday and pick out an apartment. And they'll try to find me one on the second floor. I was also warned that these apartments are not in showing condition, but they'll make an exception for me.

Saturday

Suckered my mother into coming with me. Even though we'd spent the last 3 days in the car, including 8+ hour drives to Georgia.

We drove 3 hours to the other coast, missing exactly one toll booth (which resulted in me sending a check for ONE dollar to the toll booth people instead of a $100 fine) and arrived in record time, just after they opened.

Meet with frazzled, hair-brained apartment complex lady. This lady was a mess. An absolute mess.

Apartment lady shows me a giant map of the apartment complex and tells me to pick which building I'd like to live in. I pick one. Second floor, corner unit. Sounds perfect!

We go to look at the building. The apartment? Not on the second floor. She discovers one in that building that is on the second floor, so we go to look at it. It's not a corner unit, but center. I can deal with that. It has brand new carpet, it's getting a new fridge. Works for me!

After returning to the office, she is surprised to find that apartment is already taken. Shucks!

She sends my mother and I out to choose between two other buildings, both with center units on the second floor.

When we get back, we're left with only one choice. One of two apartments is on the first floor. Go figure.

We go to look at this apartment with apartment lady. It is an absolute, disgusting mess. I was warned beforehand that this would be the case and I'd like to believe I have a pretty high tolerance for things as this. But this was just awful.

I can see past that all, though. I can see past the dirty linoleum. The filthy kitchen. The dusty light fixtures. All of it.

Only.

I cant see past the absolutely disgusting carpet which apartment lady isn't sure is going to be replaced. I mean, I could get over the stains and the snags with a few area rugs and a runner (hello bird runner at Pottery Barn!) But what I cannot get over is the way the air conditioner leaks water right onto the carpet. Into one big, sloppy puddle in the hall.

That just wont do.

But. I don't have any other options. If I want an apartment and I want to live on the second floor (safety reasons, you understand. I'm a single, young female), then it's this apartment.

I give apartment lady my deposit. Pray that she doesn't lose it. And am assured with promises that she'll talk to the maintenance manager about replacing the carpet and call me back as soon as she hears from him.

Thursday

Still no word from apartment lady about the carpet.

I cannot stand the anticipation any longer and call the apartment myself.

Different lady answers the phone. I ask about the carpet. She tells me to hold. Comes back, tells me that yes, they are replacing the carpet.

Yes! New carpet. New linoleum. New fridge. New microwave.

Perfect.

Only. New apartment lady asks me what old apartment lady told me the rent was.

I tell her. She hesitates. I start to freak.

She says she'll look into it and call me back. It's 20 minutes to closing time for their office.

She never calls me back.

I go on a killer run to try not to freak out and have a heart attack. The new rent is $125 more than the discounted rate I was told. There's nothing like getting your first apartment on sale.

The run doesn't do the trick. I make cookie dough. Make 6-ish cookies and eat the dough.

Continue to freak out.

Friday

11:30am and still no word from the apartment. I call them myself, prepared to fight tooth and nail to get the discounted rent.

New apartment lady answers. I remind her who I am. She puts me on hold to get my file. Comes back and tells me that yes, I am getting the discounted rate.

I tell her thanks for giving me a freaking heart attack and causing me to eat cookie dough; I'll see you in August.

*Above photo taken on the way up Mount Vesuvius. Really, if I think working out all the kinks for this apartment is hard, I should just remember trying to climb up a volcano.