Limbo
My move and work have consumed my life. During the day, it's all about work, and at night I try to make some progress unpacking a few things. I feel exactly as I felt when I first moved to Seattle and lived on Joe and Linda's couch--completely dislocated. And when I look back at myself then and now, have I made any progress? Sometimes I feel like the same person.
An unsettled living space is not an inviting place to return to each night. It's the inevitable pain of moving, I suppose, yet the sheer difficulty of setting up new services seems unnecessary. I still don't have phone service, and Qwest wants to send out a technician, but only at an $85 fee. I think it's a scam to get me to sign up for the $4.75 per month line maintenance service. No one seems to be able to do any work during the weekends, so it's a constant struggle to find time away from work to let these folks in.
I also had to sell my TV to Sang because it just doesn't fit through any doors to the basement. Sang is getting the best of all worlds. He's rid his place of that pesky roommate but kept the sweet TV. I will give my television one last hug tonight and then we part ways. It's been tough not being able to unwind by popping in a movie and seeing it on a really big screen.
I also don't have Internet access at home yet. I feel like I'm living in the 80's again. Is this what Paris Hilton had to endure when filming The Simple Life? Am I part of some reality TV show conspiracy to deprive me of all modern technology and amenities? I've realized that I find it really hard to live without certain things: high speed Internet access, numerous grounded electrical outlets, a large video screen of some sort, satellite TV. I'm a techno-spoiled-brat.
Or perhaps I'm blaming the wrong disease for my malaise. I curled up my first Sunday morning in the new house with Tobias Wolff's new novel Old School and finished it in a few hours curled up on a sofa, and it was pure magic. And if the house were full of family and friends, the piles of unpacked boxes wouldn't mean a thing.
Thanksgiving couldn't come at a better time. A few days in the company of loved ones will warm up this cold heart.
An unsettled living space is not an inviting place to return to each night. It's the inevitable pain of moving, I suppose, yet the sheer difficulty of setting up new services seems unnecessary. I still don't have phone service, and Qwest wants to send out a technician, but only at an $85 fee. I think it's a scam to get me to sign up for the $4.75 per month line maintenance service. No one seems to be able to do any work during the weekends, so it's a constant struggle to find time away from work to let these folks in.
I also had to sell my TV to Sang because it just doesn't fit through any doors to the basement. Sang is getting the best of all worlds. He's rid his place of that pesky roommate but kept the sweet TV. I will give my television one last hug tonight and then we part ways. It's been tough not being able to unwind by popping in a movie and seeing it on a really big screen.
I also don't have Internet access at home yet. I feel like I'm living in the 80's again. Is this what Paris Hilton had to endure when filming The Simple Life? Am I part of some reality TV show conspiracy to deprive me of all modern technology and amenities? I've realized that I find it really hard to live without certain things: high speed Internet access, numerous grounded electrical outlets, a large video screen of some sort, satellite TV. I'm a techno-spoiled-brat.
Or perhaps I'm blaming the wrong disease for my malaise. I curled up my first Sunday morning in the new house with Tobias Wolff's new novel Old School and finished it in a few hours curled up on a sofa, and it was pure magic. And if the house were full of family and friends, the piles of unpacked boxes wouldn't mean a thing.
Thanksgiving couldn't come at a better time. A few days in the company of loved ones will warm up this cold heart.