I'm alive. I can't talk for long because though I've finally had the motivation to pull up this dusty old site and get a-typin', I have plans this evening (if you can believe that), and I need "to get ready soon" (translation - pile on some eyeliner to look happy and literally mask the rotting insides of both my body and soul.)

The move went smoothly. Everything got out here in one piece. Yes, even the shitty box that the UPS men laughed at promising me no more than a 50% chance my shit in it would make it out here without crumbling into a thousand pieces. Well, I showed them. Everything is still in perfect condition. Yay me.

I would have written earlier, but I don't think I've really been up for examining my life situation. To be honest, I'm not really up for it right now either, but I'm going to avoid writing cover letters for just one more evening, and what better way to do that than write to my sweet readers out there who religiously check my site for my daily complaints and self-deprecating rants.

I have a good roommate. I have a very nice apartment, which will be absolutely beautiful once I buy a good chair, some bookshelves, and another lamp. I've put thousands into it all so far, but I budgeted for that. I can afford such luxuries thanks to the many lovely customers of Waterworks who handed me an extra dollar most likely for my wearing a shirt that showed my belly ring than for the actual shot of Apple Puckers.

I got sick though. Very sad. I managed to face a brutal New England winter without so much as a sniffle, but I arrive in sunny California and in two days come down with the worst cold in the world. And if feels so funky because coughing and sneezing when it's 86 degrees and not a cloud in sight feels absolutely ridiculous. I mean, when you're in some big coat, and the ground is white, and the air is biting, then fine. Bring on the cold. It makes perfect sense. But having enough phlegm to flood a reservoir when you're in your tank tops and flip-flops...it's just stupid. Like having a lemonade stand in Antarctica. Dumb.

So, it made it very difficult to accomplish things like frequent trips to Target, and painting so many goddamn walls you'd think you're in a labryinth. All you want to do is rest, and it's all you SHOULD be doing, but you can't rest when you don't have drawers to put your clothes in, when you have boxes piling to the ceiling. You can't get physically better without mental rest. Can't get mental rest without your apartment being complete. Can't get the apartment complete without physical strength. Can't get physical strength until you're healthy which requires physical rest. No win situation. So, I did what I could, and though it's come a long way, it's not done.

Today is a whole new headache, since that's what I need. Jobs and friends. Don't have them yet. Well, I have some. I just don't have a life. Yes, I've been here for two seconds. I know that having a career and a life doesn't come with the apartment keys, but they really really should. I'm very impatient, and KNOWING it would be like this doesn't mean it wouldn't bother me once it got here. I said to my mom, "At least I'm not delusional and think that everything is going to be perfect when I get there. I know I'm going to feel sad and lonely at times, so it's okay." She wisely responded, "Even if you KNOW that it would hurt if you got hit with a hammer, it's still going to actually hurt once the hammer hits." I thought that being mentally prepared for the shock of having no structure would make it easier. It doesn't. All it means is that I was right. Still, being prepared does help a little bit, I think. I mean, it doesn't matter if you KNOW a hurricane is coming or not. Once it hits, it's going to hit hard. But maybe you could have put away some shit, reserved some supplies, or boarding up your home if you had a little warning. This metaphor working for anyone out there?

So, now begins the dreaded scrolling of hotjobs and monster.com. I'll let you know how it goes. I'm sure you'll serve as an excellent procrastination tool. I've got to run.