I’m here with minutes before work starts thinking about diving into all the details that this Monday holds. Details. So many of them. And my mind does not often seem equipped.
You know, it’s hard to move to a new state. Very hard. New banks, new license plates, new cell phone service, new apartment, no furniture, no friends, no clue… about anything. Where is the nearest gas station? Where do I go to find toilet paper? Where did I leave my brain?
I had to get photos done for a new passport. The receptionist, right before she snapped the photo, told me that I need a haircut. A haircut?! Thank you for that nugget of wisdom which I will now carry around with me for the next ten years. Any advice on where to find a barber?
I have been staying with a couple people from work. This is humbling, moving to a new city, having your new landlord push back your move in date, having to ask your barely-not-strangers coworkers if you can sleep on their couches. A couple of them kindly welcomed me into their homes. One in particular let me stay for three nights. On the afternoon after the third we both left work, and seeing her walking to her apartment I called out a salutation, which included calling her BY THE WRONG NAME. I literally shouted a wrong name at her from across the parking lot. “Did you just call me ‘Angela’?” she said. Yes. Yes, I had.
Don’t get me wrong. There is a lot of excitement to be had in all of this New-Place Adventure. I have already been to gallery openings and concerts. I have ideas on ideas on ideas about plays and city bike rides and winter wonderlandness that keep building.
Currently, however, my life feels absolutely clunky. I move forward on one task only to find I’ve forgotten another. I call a new friend a wrong name. I miss every exit, make every wrong turn. I’m just clunking around the city, a Texan in the great white north about to get lost in the first snow drift.