I’m a little lonely. I’m a little sad. And there’s absolutely no denying the fact that I, Rachel Anna, am the sole person responsible for finishing that bag of cheese crunchies.
Because I’m currently the sole inhabitant of apartment 4, and even our cockroaches don’t have that poor taste in snacks.
I’m all alone, and it’s all my fault.
After all, I’m the one that suggested, then nagged, then physically forced my fiance to apply for away rotations in California. I practically pushed him across the Mississippi, insisting that the round-trip flight and the three weeks spent on someone’s couch and the three weeks spent on opposite coasts of the country would be worth it. I was intent on moving to California for residency, intent on trying something new, on moving at a slower pace, on pissing off his parents. You know, I wanted to go for all the right reasons.
And then, just like that, I changed my mind.
First, it was a total 180.
California? Did I say California? I totally meant Connecticut. You must have misheard me. Why are you shlepping out to UCLA again?
Amid some stressful times at work, I decided the best thing was for us to go back to our (and by ‘our,’ I mean ‘my’) roots. Screw the West Coast, and freedom, and trying new things! All I wanted was to sleep in my old bed and hang out with my (very) old dog and have my mom cook dinner for me. People on House Hunters do it all the time, and what is real life like if not HGTV? Yale has a great residency program…but why move all the way up to New Haven, when we could be even closer to my home town with a residency at a community hospital! Who needs Stanford when you can have Stamford?
It would be awesome! And relaxing! And totally like high school!
Wait a minute…
That phase passed once I realized that it might, in fact, be just like high school, and that fighting with my parents 24/7 could severely compromise my efforts to extract a designer dress from our wedding budget.
So, new plan! New York it is! Bright lights, big city, loads of friends, loads of job opportunities, loads of shopping opportunities! God, I love Bloomies.
And then I remembered we have no money. And that idea promptly went out the window.
Shortly thereafter, Dave got an interview from Duke, which of course bred in me an immediate desire to head down I-95 and eat ribs.
We could develop cute Southern accents! And hit up all the BBQ places from Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives! And buy a house for $4,000! Count me in!
And then I remembered Durham was in North Carolina.
Now, of course, I’m left with no ideas at all. Every destination seems to have a strike against it: requires a car, requires a trust fund, requires massive antidepressants to survive the winter/the Republican residents. Nowhere seems like a good fit. Nowhere seems promising. Nowhere seems right.
And yet, more than apprehension and anxiety about our big move, there’s one thought clouding my vision these days. Sitting here in my living room, loving the sounds of the city outside my window but missing the kid that’s usually sitting here next to me, feet propped up on the coffee table, medical school books perched on his lap, I can’t ignore this fact: nothing seems more wrong than being without Dave.
I’m a little over all the corny that’s been on this blog recently, but it’s the truth. While the fact that he’s in Cali right now might, indeed, be all my fault; while it also might be pointless now that I’ve reneged on that whole West Coast pilgrimage plan; while I’m flip-flopping all over the place these days; the truth is, it’s never been more clear that I want to be with Dave. Even if it means living with my parents or facing down the temptation that is 5th avenue shopping or facing down the temptation that is perfect pulled pork, each and every day. As long as we’re together, I’ll be ok.
And, hopefully, I’ll figure out my ideal city by the time fellowship interviews roll around. Because three years below the Mason Dixon line is one thing, but six years? Please. I don’t think I could love anyone that much.