It's 4:00 PM on the dot. I'm sitting at my desk, staring into space, willing the next 60 minutes to go by. The past month at my new job I've run out of work almost every day. Sometimes at 3 in the afternoon and sometimes at 8:45 in the morning. It's those days when I wish for a private office instead of an open cubicle (which is more like a cube with a person in each corner). My husband recommended that I start a blog. This will give me an outlet to pass time without looking unproductive. My husband, as usual, is a very wise man. So I'm here. I'm lonely and wishing for purpose, but I'm here.
I'm not sure what this blog will look like yet. If it centers around my job it likely won't do me (or other readers) any good except as a sedative. My very wise husband suggested that I write about him. My very wise husband is very wise most of the time, but I think he was fishing for compliments. We just moved from his parents' home into our first house. We're renting the house, but it's not part of a huge complex full of drunken adolescents or car alarms that go off and stay off for hours in the middle of the night, so I have no complaints. I have 3 bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms, and no longer have to worry about where guests will sleep. As musicians, we can practice without fear of vandalism in retaliation for our hours of very high and very loud noises. (We liked to think we brought a little culture to our previous residences.) My life has drastically improved in the past 6 days since the move. Unlike many woman-folk in today's society, I actually enjoy cooking dinner and taking care of my very wise husband. (Perhaps I should abbreviate.) Our friend Janette has moved in as well, learning recently that her current abode is scheduled for demolition at the end of the month. Janette is just about the most laid-back, low stress, drama-free gal I've ever met. She is a fabulous roommate and we delight in sharing our new independent riches with her.
Perhaps I'll write about life at home with my VWH and Janette. Or perhaps I'll write about music. I miss music. Five months have passed since the completion of my masters degree and any chance to make music is already precious. Offertory at church? Done. Play for the elderly across the street? Name the time. I'm just about ready to start busking...
Or maybe this blog will center on how much more enjoyable upstate New York is compared to the humid, isolated existence we endured in North Carolina for two years. I can't count the number of shocked looks on peoples' faces when we express our unabashed joy in a return to the north. "But North Carolina's where everybody wants to go." "It's so warm there!" It was warm. Very warm. Hot, in fact, most of the time. We did enjoy watching the city scurry around and then promptly shut down for a few days at the mere threat of snow. When it actually did put down 4 inches we didn't have school for a week. Yes, North Carolina had its share of plusses. But they pale in comparison to the family, friends, and, yes, snow that we find in North Chili.
Whatever the topic, or if this just evolves into random musings, it already has worth in that it's helped 20 minutes to pass by.
The title, by the way, is thus named because even though I'm 25, I feel very young compared to most of my peers, who are having babies and decorating their very own houses that they're paying for with their very own mortgages. Even though I'm now a full-fledged adult who can vote, smoke, drink, and rent a car (my newest achievement), the span of time and wisdom between me and my parents seems to be lengthening. But working at a college makes me feel old and wrinkled in comparison with the students who are full of giggly gossip and delighting in the sheer drama that exists at a small college. So I'm caught in between, with the VWH and Janette, and we're trying to figure out where exactly we fit. What exactly we're supposed to be doing. And who we're supposed to be doing it with.
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