Wednesday, June 30, 2010
For the last seven years I have been, more or less, sans vehicular unit. To get around Boston I take the train or the bus, or I use the feet God gave me and I walk. When I want to visit family I shuttle myself out to Logan Airport and I fly. And that’s great. It’s great for my health, great for the environment and, on average, great for my wallet. Here’s the problem though, it’s pretty damn wretched for my psychological well being. Oh sure it sounds just peachy. How convenient to just hop a bus or a train. Umm, it’s not. I’ve spent more time standing in the elements waiting for public transit than I care to recall. And remember you’re sharing that bus or train with every walk of life. The high school squealers are obnoxious. Team Jacob? Team Edward? Justin Beaber? I don’t care!! Only dogs can hear you now. The cell phone talkers are just plain inconsiderate. That rash you’ve got? I don’t need to know about it. Baby mama drama? Text someone about it. And the smelly people, dear God the smelly people. I want so badly to carry travel sized deodorant and a can of Lysol. “Excuse me sir *spray spray spray*. That’s for now”. Hand him the deodorant. “That’s for later”. Wrangle them up and package them in a big metal box and that’s my commute to and from wherever it is I’m going. So you can imagine my elation when I purchased a car for the big move west. It’s nothing glamorous, a 2006 Pontiac Vibe. It’s a stick shift so I don’t actually know how to drive it yet but I know that when I do it will take me wherever I want to go when I want to go there. The only thing I’ll be listening to will be the songs I choose off my iPod and the only thing it will smell like is the coconut scented air freshener I’m planning on buyingJ
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
It’s Official, I’ll be starting the drive west to sunny Californ-I-A on September 12th. I don’t have a job out there. I don’t have an apartment. And no, for the thousandth time, I am not moving out there because of a boyfriend. I’m not the type of girl who uproots her life, says goodbye to a home she’s loved and schleps all her worldly possessions to the other end of the country for some dude. If you know me, you know that. Some of my closest friends and family have expressed some concern over my seemingly unfounded desire to transplant myself. Some people need an explanation as to why I decided to go. Here it is: I’m 25 years old and I can. What better reason is there? When else in my life will I be able to just pick up and move simply because I want to try something new? I’m excited and I’m scared and I’m anxious to get started on a new chapter in my life. I do love the life I’ve built in Boston and I’ll miss it more than I know, I’m sure, but it’s time to go somewhere different. Meet new people, try new things. I’m looking forward to seeing where that takes me and knowing the people and places I find along the way.