THE LAST FIVE ...
Closing up shop
It may be time for a change
Entry in the air
Music of the moment
Or ... BE RANDOM!
Wednesday, Nov. 14, 2001 - 2:53 p.m.
Bitching and moaning
What the FUCK!?
What the hell is wrong with me? Why can't I pack? I'm so lost. I hate this. I don't know how to do it, or where to start. What should I pack? Do I pack my clothes? All of them? If not, how many? When will I start sleeping up there? This all sucks because I don't know when we'll be getting my bed up there, so I don't know when to get a mattress, so I don't know when to plan to start sleeping up there. I hate it, I really do. This packing seemed so easy when I was in college, why can't I do it now? It's been so long. This is really pissing me off. I can't think about it anymore. I want it to end.
Part of the problem is probably that I'm only moving an hour away, so I know that I don't need all my books or all my photos, etc. I made a list, but that doesn't seemed to have helped. I guess I should just get down to it -- start putting some of those clothes in bags and suitcases, start putting some of those files and books in boxes, start putting some of those various little things in places to get put into the car tomorrow and driven up to North Jersey. I think if I get just a little, just a few things moved in tomorrow, I'll start to feel better. Then over the weekend we can borrow my uncle's truck and empty the storage garage and move my bed and dresser and whatever else is there up to Edgewater. And then I can cross the street and find a mattress at Rockaway Bedding and tell them to deliver it and I can sleep there and become a BENNY (Bergen-Essex-Newark-New-York, the people who jam up the parkway and the beaches and the bars along the Jersey Shore every summer weekend).
And let me add that Yahoo IM SUCKS! Why do people insist on using it? I've had problems with it before, on other computers. Yesterday, downstairs, I tried to use it, as I have so often before, and I couldn't even log on. So I come up here and download it to my computer, and it installs and logs me on, but then I can't send anyone a message because as soon as I do, it crashes. I can see who's online, and they can see me, but I can't do anything about it. I feel so trapped -- like I'm sitting here for all to see, and nobody can contact me. All I want to do is chat with my girlfriend, up there in the City reading through three books a day while awaiting Casey Affleck to come into the office and not know with whom he's supposed to be meeting.
I want a new computer, a nice, sleek, fast Dell Inspiron or something that will have Windows XP and fast connections and a DVD player and a CD burner. I want to make my own CDs instead of having to bother Dave every time and I want a funky-ass 500-disc CD changer for the cool stereo I don't yet own. I want to have time -- you know, convenient days off like Saturdays and Sundays -- to take advantage of dirt-cheap airfares and go to California or New Orleans or Florida, but I can't really do that because I don't have the time or money or blessing of loved ones to fly when planes are being hijacked and crashed or falling out of the sky because of run-of-the-mill engine explosions or what-have-you.
I noticed last night, while sitting at the bar at Val's with Dave, that the New York Daily News ran a 32-page report on the crash of American Flight 587 (incidentally, the winning Pick 3 lotto numbers in New Jersey on Monday were 587), and I was surprised at the depth of coverage.
Then I realized: Any day before Sept. 11, news of this crash would've been just as big. But since Sept. 11, our first reaction is not, "My God, the plane fell apart, 265 people died." Instead, it's, "Whew. The plane fell apart, it's not terrorists. Those poor people."
This is how our world has changed.
I wish I could put my finger on what it is that is holding me back from packing. I wish I knew why I can't seem to organize my thoughts, let alone my possessions. I wish I knew why this is bothering me so much. It's probably the one-hour commute to work I'll have, and maybe it's the fact that I'll be living 20 minutes from Casey but will still only see her with the frequency I do now because of my horrible work schedule. It could be the rut I'm in as far as the job search goes, the fact that the few messages I get from my job search agents point me to cool jobs I'm not qualified for, or jobs I'm qualified for but am not that interested in. Or the ones I'm qualified for and somewhat interested in, but can't seem to make the employers see it that way, so that I never hear from them after I apply. Maybe I'll just quit and work at the Men's Warehouse across the street from my apartment.
I miss your sunny funny face.
Next page: Moving, Stage 1
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