catching up

Oh, hi there. Don’t mind me – just taking my annual March break.

Yes, I know that it seems to have slipped into April. Yes, I’m aware that last year I at least had a doctor’s note, of sorts. But these things happen, I suppose.

One day, you’re all, I have my posts planned out for the next week! Chock full of Boston previews and “everything happens for a reason”-esque lines and jokes about needing Irish carbombs on St. Patrick’s Day very, very badly. And the next, you find out that life isn’t going to go the way you assumed it would, at all. You’re moving to New York.

It was both wonderful and terrifying, receiving the very opposite of the news I thought I was going to get on March 17. At first I was shocked – the kind where your hands shake so much you can’t dial the numbers on the telephone and your voice cracks and you cry, just a little. Then I was thrilled and making plan, plans, plans. Then I was overwhelmed about moving – beseeching Dave to call Comcast! and cancel our utilities account! and make sure our renter’s insurance can carry over!, all at around midnight on March 18. Then I was overwhelmed about money and making ends meet.

And then I was overwhelmed with the crippling fear that I’d forced Dave to move somewhere he really didn’t want to, to go to a program that really wasn’t the best next move for his career, all so that I could live out some fantasy of happiness that required me to a- get a wonderful new job and b-manufacture a wonderful new social life, and, dear lord, why had I not considered the possibility that I might not be able to pull off either? What if it turned out that the source of all my unhappiness was not the fact that I sit in my apartment alone for 12 hours a day, or haven’t yet found my dream job, or have no friends to speak of in the metro Philadelphia area? What if the common denominator was simply…me?

And that’s about the time I fell off the map, folks.

Suffice it to say, I’ve been a little sad. And not even like, breaking up with your boyfriend but still capable of posting witty anecdotes about how you want to stab him with a fork sad. Just, sad sad. The kind of sad no one wants to hear about.

A new sparkly belt from Anthropologie helped a little and a weekend in Vermont with Megan helped a lot. And then we had an engagement party in Connecticut – filled with lots of family and a few friends and many brunch-appropriate champagne cocktails – and then our little Francine had a little operation to make her less of a lady. And aside from a botched interview with a company I would give my left arm to work for and a few tantrums about the fact that the weather outside most certainly does not match the calendar, life has been alright – or, more accurately, I’ve been, by turns, miserable and teary and paralyzed by a reel of worst-case scenarios running through my head, and then, suddenly, bubbling with happiness and singing along to my favorite song on the radio with my feet on the dash. Which I think probably evens out to: I’m doing alright.

I’m still worried about affording New York (thanks for raising rents by $200 per month and botching my “we’ll be able to live comfortably in Manhattan!” plan, Cornell.)

I’m still realizing that, even though I mostly abhorred the idea of moving to Boston, there was also a teeny tiny part of me that found the possibility comforting, because it meant I would kind of have an excuse to downshift my career, and also, that if I was unhappy there, it wouldn’t be my fault. (Because, hello, who’s happy in Boston?)

I’m still seeing that there’s a part of me that’s overwhelmed by my potential (or the potential a bunch of you seem to see in me, at least) and, more specifically, the possibility of not living up to it in a city that really should propel me forward.

But more than anything else, I am very, very grateful. I remember, very clearly, that this was what I wished and hoped and crossed my fingers for, despite my simultaneous bracing for that town up north. I’m grateful to be closer to my parents and to have more friends than I know what to do with, all a subway ride away. I’m grateful that while not perfect, my job situation is looking up. I’m grateful that I didn’t feel nearly as sick this March as I did last March. I’m grateful that despite the fact that we took Franny to the Planned Parenthood of doggie clinics for her special operation last week, she’s totally not dead!

More on that last one soon, I promise. Because even (yet another) post about puppies and weddings is preferable to further dispatches about how getting what I want threw me for a loop, right? I thought so.


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