The drive up to ATL
First thing I saw when I arrived in Norcross
Num Nums
My office building
My drive to work
View from the windows in our building
A little city action
Monday, July 14, 2008
Atlanta- Getting Settled
The drive up to ATL
First thing I saw when I arrived in Norcross
Num Nums
My office building
My drive to work
View from the windows in our building
A little city action
Friday, July 11, 2008
Like the Tides, I Wait for What I Cannot Control
There always seems to be so much pressure to write that first entry on any external information sharer. Should I start with a hook- something to snag your attention or tickle your funny bone? Or should it be the conventional autobiographical moaning about nonsense going on today that will hold no bearing a week from now?
How about a mix of the two.
I find myself inextricably drawn to the concept of tides. I try to model my behavior after the way that water washes over everything in easy, measured movements, never seeming to rush or anticipate. The tides absolve and dissolve in due time. They measure the passage of time, and like time, they have no sense of beginning or end. Every moment corresponds to the past and to the future, and with patience each wave will bring a new moment, a new day.
Upon this crux of impatience and indecision, I find myself currently.
You know those old cat ladies? Not the cute, kindhearted, slightly smelly ones, but the ones who loath everything outside their immediate bubble of existence and cling ineffectually to an outdated mode of comfort-seeking? I have been living with one for the last five weeks. Except she is not old, and it is not cats, but dogs that comfort her in her isolation. She is a 40-something, unemployed (never worked a day in her life), strict conservative (religiously and politically) who lives off her aging parents dwindling fortune. Since day one of living with her, she seemed to think that I, a twenty-one year old college student visiting the city for a summer internship, would become either her best friend, or her surrogate daughter.
Normally I would attempt to help someone like this, but her eyes simply will not be opened. She does not allow me to close any door in her home, including the door to my private bedroom. I suspect she wants me to shit with my door open, as well. She does not let me watch the History Channel or the Discovery Channel, due to their ‘controversial’ content concerning such god-hating topics as evolution, genetics, and the universe. She makes me check in with her multiple times a day, and calls me constantly while I am at work. Her ENTIRE home is laden with the most obnoxious and nauseating dog decorum, including rugs, knick knacks, lamps, furniture, and wallpaper.
So, I’ve had enough.
This weekend, I plan to move to an apartment in the city that will be furniture-less, empty of other occupants, and without television or internet connection. But, it’s a hell of a lot better than living in the den of psycho lady.
Thus, this transition is one that frightens me slightly, but excites and invigorates me more. I can’t wait to feel like I’m going home after a long day at work. I can’t wait to close doors. Above all, I can’t wait to have my own space where delusional religious nuts cannot attempt to prosthelytize to me.
Like the tides, I must wait for the ebb and flow to act on their own. I cannot speed things up of slow things down. I cannot make the move-out date any sooner. I cannot influence her reaction to the news that I am moving out. I must take the waves as they come, and rest assured that when the tide is low, it will rise once again.
How about a mix of the two.
I find myself inextricably drawn to the concept of tides. I try to model my behavior after the way that water washes over everything in easy, measured movements, never seeming to rush or anticipate. The tides absolve and dissolve in due time. They measure the passage of time, and like time, they have no sense of beginning or end. Every moment corresponds to the past and to the future, and with patience each wave will bring a new moment, a new day.
Upon this crux of impatience and indecision, I find myself currently.
You know those old cat ladies? Not the cute, kindhearted, slightly smelly ones, but the ones who loath everything outside their immediate bubble of existence and cling ineffectually to an outdated mode of comfort-seeking? I have been living with one for the last five weeks. Except she is not old, and it is not cats, but dogs that comfort her in her isolation. She is a 40-something, unemployed (never worked a day in her life), strict conservative (religiously and politically) who lives off her aging parents dwindling fortune. Since day one of living with her, she seemed to think that I, a twenty-one year old college student visiting the city for a summer internship, would become either her best friend, or her surrogate daughter.
Normally I would attempt to help someone like this, but her eyes simply will not be opened. She does not allow me to close any door in her home, including the door to my private bedroom. I suspect she wants me to shit with my door open, as well. She does not let me watch the History Channel or the Discovery Channel, due to their ‘controversial’ content concerning such god-hating topics as evolution, genetics, and the universe. She makes me check in with her multiple times a day, and calls me constantly while I am at work. Her ENTIRE home is laden with the most obnoxious and nauseating dog decorum, including rugs, knick knacks, lamps, furniture, and wallpaper.
So, I’ve had enough.
This weekend, I plan to move to an apartment in the city that will be furniture-less, empty of other occupants, and without television or internet connection. But, it’s a hell of a lot better than living in the den of psycho lady.
Thus, this transition is one that frightens me slightly, but excites and invigorates me more. I can’t wait to feel like I’m going home after a long day at work. I can’t wait to close doors. Above all, I can’t wait to have my own space where delusional religious nuts cannot attempt to prosthelytize to me.
Like the tides, I must wait for the ebb and flow to act on their own. I cannot speed things up of slow things down. I cannot make the move-out date any sooner. I cannot influence her reaction to the news that I am moving out. I must take the waves as they come, and rest assured that when the tide is low, it will rise once again.
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