Johnson City Thinks I'm Pretty

The drive to Virginia is a familiar one. It's the same drive I did my four years in Syracuse, the same as my one year in Rochester, and now the same as my three years in Asheville. It's seven hours. It's a roundabout number. I'm throughly used to the seven hour drives alone down I-81. I've been doing them for ten years.

And so this drive was to be no different. I got out of work an hour late, got on the road a half-hour after I would've liked but on the road I got. I only had about a quarter tank but I didn't fill up, eagerly waiting the cheaper gas across the border in Tennessee or Virginia. I was being thrifty.
45 minutes in: there's a black bear. Standing on the side of the interstate. Just watching traffic. Like ya do. Duly noted.

Just north of Johnson City, TN I realize I have to stop for gas. I had wanted to make it all the way to Bristol in VA but this will work. I take the exit for Tri-cities airport and stop at the BP there. First gas pump takes over five minutes to pump about a gallon. This isn't going to work. I painfully wait through $10 of gas ($2.46 gal for mid) then pull around to another pump to try my hand there. Same speed. Apparently this is the gas station from interstate hell. I was just driving at nearly 80mph; I want my gas at that speed too, you bastard. I end it at $12. I can't stand to wait any longer, this just took a half hour. I start my car. It doesn't sound like my car. It sounds ill. My car isn't ill. I stutter across the parking lot to the McDonalds there, so I can use a restroom that isn't attached to a gas station. I come back out, start my car and realize things had gone downhill. I realize this when my car keeps stalling. Or acting like its stalling. Even when I'm revving it like I want to race.

Curse word.
Double triple curse word.
Apologize to God.
Beg his forgiveness.
Promise him my first-born if car is magically healed.
Try car again.
Still coughing like it has auto emphysema
Well too bad, God cuz I didn't plan on kids anyway so HA!

I pop the hood and stare. Go to trunk, pull out tools and Haynes manual. Dismantle air filter, check it. Looks a-ok. Check connections on spark plugs. Check idle. You get the idea. I'm stuck in the parking lot of a McDonalds in 88 degree Tennessee. I'm in jeans. I hate everyone. Nice guy stops by with a slight beer belly, a trim strawberry blond beard and a receding hairline. He's the kind of guy one knows works construction before he confirms it. He offers whatever he can. We agree it's probably my fuel injectors. He works in town but doesn't live here and starts calling his buddies to find a good auto parts place. This is also when he starts telling his buddies he's met “some cute lady who's got her own tools. And a Haynes manual. I'd ask her out if she twern't headin' for a weddin' up in Virginia. Hold on. (turns to me) How ol are ya?” Then drops the phone and asks if I wanna go to the lake with him and forget my car for a while. Oh lord. I am in two different colored wife-beater tanks, my hair looks like it has been subjected to windows down driving for over an hour (it has) and I'm rapidly collected Johnson City crud between my toes. If this is what it takes to look cute around here, I am gonna win. I politely decline and reluctantly the nice bearded guy leaves to meet up with his friends. I head to the gas station (who sold me the stupid gas in the first place) and ask them if they know of any auto parts stores or mechanics.

Guy behind counter: I dunno. I don't live here. I lives in Kingsport.
Me: But you work here. And you haven't seen anything?
Guy behind counter: Nope.
Me: (to woman standing there): Do you know anything?
Stringy haired chain smoker: Naw. I lives in Johnson City.
Me: Well then where am I? What town is this?
Guy behind counter: Beats me.
Me: But you WORK HERE.
Guy behind counter: Well YEAH.
Me: And you don't know what town this is.
Guy behind counter: They don't pay me to know that stuff.
Me: Do you have a phone book?
Guy behind counter: I thinks so.

I borrow phone book, use it and the GPS function on my phone to figure out I'm in Grey, Tennessee. Because homeboy behind counter isn't paid enough to know the name of the town in which he works. Well done; he's gonna go far it life. I then use the phone book to call and plead with two mechanics to help me, who both tell me that it's too close to closing and that they're booked up for the rest of the week. Drat. I call a third. His name is Ed. I crank up the southern accent. I dial into my inner helpless woman. I throw hints about loving Jesus and being from out of town. Ed sighs. I tell him my problem. Ed understands. Ed gives me advice. He says its probably bad gas, I should get some specific fuel injector cleaners and try that out. And just in case, he'll have calls forwarded to his cell phone if I'm still stuck. I decide that first born no longer goes to God, creator of the Universe, but to Ed, polite auto mechanic.

I again use phone book to find auto parts store. I enter it into my GPS, who tells me in a polite voice that the closest store like that is .7 miles away, down the four-lane divided road that is Bobby Hicks Highway and so there I go. Along my walk two other guys stop to ask if I need a ride, or they can be of service. This would be a nice gesture if I hadn't just watched “Monster” and if they had been looking me in the eyes. And if my serious case of back sweat hadn't been so uncomfortable. I again decline the offer of a ride and keep on my trek to Advance Auto. I make it, I find what I'm looking for, I ask the guys there what they think and they say I'm probably spot on. Walk the .7 miles back along the highway that has no sidewalks, dump one in my gas tank, sputter around the parking lot a bit then say to hell with it and get back on the interstate.
I immediately feel that I have to pee.
But I won't stop.
Not for another four hours.
I'm going now, dammit I won't get delayed again.
So a seven hour drive turns into nine hours with the addition of $22 in dreadfully slow (bad) gasoline, 3 sketchy ride offers, a 1.4 mile walk along a highway named after someone who probably drove moonshine, $8 in fuel injector cleaner and one free phone book.

And no more bears.

Turbid

Very often I'll get a word or two in my head and they'll sort of tumble around in there until I can figure out why I'm thinking about them or I get distracted by something shiny. A few weeks ago the word was Turbid....interesting. I'd actually started to write something about it but it was absolute crap so I ditched it but I hadn't stopped thinking about it.

Last night I scribbled something down on a scrap piece of paper after some thoughts.

Turbid: (1) clouded, opaque or muddy, as a liquid. (2) confused, muddled.

When I was in AP Bio in high school we took a five day field trip and did coastal ecology experiments, one of which included testing the turbidity of the water. This uses a secchi disk that's dropped slowly into water; when it's no longer visible that depth is marked. The more turbid the water, the more contaminated it is (by runoff, algae blooms, science stuff). The visibility is low, things are lost. Ever tried to snorkel in a clouded lake? Sucks.

Turbidity...losing myself in a situation, hoping to fake it til it works, forcing a square peg in a round hole, shaving edges and boundaries...hoping to force an ends rather than living the means. Not just in relationships but expectation, occupation, even memory. Letting things get turbid; forsaking definition for comfort or the feeling of safety and losing the better parts of oneself in the process. Stirring up things that should've settled long before. Turbid: a sort of succubus preying on standards and boundaries. I'm astounded how turbid things have gotten recently, how I've let them get there. I wasn't just passive, I was permissive. Hoping clarity is coming.

Mitts Up

As most of you know I moved in with my father and my step-mom right after I turned 17 (why is a long story and a blog isn't the place to tell it). It was probably the single most significant moment of my life, that move. I was on a field trip with yearbook when I found out I was allowed to move and came back with a suitcase packed for six days in hand. My mom and stepdad wouldn't let me get any of my stuff from her house, so I lived out of that suitcase for close to two months. My stepmom took me shopping for clothing, underwear, etc so I could live that summer in something besides what I'd packed back in late May. There is this roller-coaster at Kings Dominion (shout out, VA) that is entirely inside and completely in the dark. I love roller-coasters but I hate this one, because I can't see what is coming next, there isn't a way to brace my head and neck for the next loop or sharp curve. It is so painful when there is no way to prepare for what's next.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my family in metaphor. I got a phone call Saturday from my step-mom, telling me goodbye. She's leaving my dad after 15 years or so, moving back to Massachusetts in two weeks time. She's been a big part of home for 10 years. How weird is that? A part of my home calls to say goodbye, to not be seen again. We aren't close enough that we'd ever visit each other but she was there for the most seminal moments in my life. God, she got me ready for prom (and got me drunk while doing it...well done), came to both of my graduations, knows all my friends, served as a go-between for a 18 year old girl and her father (very necessary), is responsible for my love of both J.Crew clothing and Victoria's Secret underwear (too much info? Too bad) as well as champagne. For most of the time we knew each other, we got along fabulously. Almost two years ago my dad called me to say that they were splitting up (Read the original post here. It's much better written than this one), but it was my understanding that since then there had been drastic improvements; that they were working it out. Guess not. I think this is why I've historically been so cynical of relationships. Gotta keep your mitts up, kid. I tried this past year to put my guard down, and I'm thankful I did it, if only to learn what it's like. I would love to walk through life unarmed. Well, at least life is never boring. I'll take just about anything over boredom.

And So 'Tis

The last month and a half of 2007 has slurred into 2008 without so much as a wink or a nod. Within the fury every week seemed to have some sort of festival, party, concert, wedding or other event requiring attendance and alcohol and each morning after brought the same promises of exemption and remorse, like my 19 year-old self woke from the slumber of time to rage again. I thought she was long gone. I was wrong.

I don't pretend to be changed. I only hope I have.

I think there is this subtle self-destructive fiber in my being that awakens without impunity or regard and tears through the careful structure that has formed around me as if good decision-making was nothing but balsa wood and chaos something akin to a tornado. This fiber is stronger than I care to admit, and her influence is far-reaching. She is the beast inside me and she rages at her whim.

I am happy to see 2007 go...God am I happy to see it leave. It was one of the better years in this decade, but I am still glad to see it fade into history. My hopes for 2008 involve stability, a sense of community, and the ever-elusive idea of putting down roots. I think this town is my home for an indefinite time period; just what that entails and where that takes me (in all aspects) is what will be unfurled within the winds of the year.

How's that for a post of mixed metaphors.

Give Up

Ok, I give up. Hands where you can see 'em, towel thrown in. I'm so tired I'm done. I haven't had a job in almost two months and currently my bank account practically shouts that fact. Since I've been unemployed I've been robbed, gotten very “whooping cough: the return” sick, applied for 20-some jobs and now my check engine light has come on. And right before that I got dumped, so yeah that's fun. I haven't slept through a night in practically a month and really do think I've developed an ulcer. Awesome. I'm considering skipping the wedding on saturday to wrangle at Windy Gap for the cash. It's practically nothing but it's more than I currently have. I really can't handle anything else. I am so frustrated and stressed and distraught and at my wits end—I feel like I am barely holding on. I'm sorry to dump this on my blog, where I try to put things in a funny perspective most of the time, but I'm too tired to do it anymore. And I'm not asking for money or sympathy, but dammit it's my blog I can vent if I want to. It just all hit me yesterday harder than it has previously. I need something to look up. This fall has been one gut kick after another; I can't believe how the bottom just keeps getting lower. I know God has the best in store for me but he needs to hurry up and fuckin' pull that shit out quick before I run out of alcohol and start drinking Scope. Or antifreeze.

CRUSTY CRAB!

I wrote a post about my weekend, (which was original and amazing), but written down it was just sort of boring so I tossed it. I'm feeling repetitive and unoriginal. It's like when your father tells you the same story for the 4^th time; looses its freshness. I went out with friends! Martinis! Adventure! Redskins! Woohoo! That was it. Sometimes brevity peaks out and gives the world a raspberry before it goes back into the chest where verbosity normally keeps it locked up. See? Back to too many words.

So I realized my digital camera was also in my car when it was broken into, so if you thought I didn't post enough photos before...well, now I got nuthin'. Maybe I'll start depicting everything with little dot drawings like they have in the NYT. Or draw events like they do with courtroom painters. Maybe I'll do fingerpainting, Mfers. Oh well, camera was a graduation gift from my father—I needed a new camera, but it had great sentimental value to me. Of course I'm a packrat, everything has sentimental value in my sick sick mind.

Quizzo on Monday: Amazing. Possibly the best team ever. First off I won a shout out question (correct answer: “CRUSTY CRAB!”) so I got a Jack of the Wood t-shirt. THEN by the end of the second round we were in the top 3 teams. After the speed round (we kicked ASS on that one) we were one point from first place. Final round we tied for third—just two points from the winner. For this I blame the following: Kenny Lofton, Ethopia, Friday, Blake Edwards, Road to Rio, James Earl Carter, and all the other answers we got wrong. But that is the highest we've ever finished; go us. Thanks to all who made appearances. Remember: everyone is invited to Quizzo...unless you dated one of us. I've got standards.

I finally finished Mrs. Dalloway. Only took me a good six months to get around to finishing a book that is less than 200 pages, but now I feel like I need to go back and read it quickly; to make it all make sense. That was a dense read. Recommended if one has the time to give attention to every word or phrase as if it stood alone. And really, people were surprised that Virginia Woolf committed suicide? Really? Did they bother to read it? It's like people being shocked that Sylvia Plath killed herself—did ya read The Bell Jar? That's a new list right there: Obnoxiously Obvious Holy Shits. Holy shit George Michael is GAY? Clark Kent is Superman!? Bruce Willis is dead in “The Sixth Sense”!? RuPaul is a MAN!?

Not a Mite Would I Withhold

So I got robbed last night. That's fun.

My little car was broken into through a cracked window while it was parked on Coxe Ave while I was at Quizzo. Took my 60G video iPod, my portable CD player, a $20 cigar and about $80 in spare change that I kept in a piggy bank for parking meters—all in all a little less than $500 (interestingly enough left my $120 Petzel climbing harness and my $400 Moonstone jacket as well as my bible, my EZ Pass and my “Lookin' Good For Jesus Lip Balm.” apparently not outdoorsy or into the Jesus...or drive the Thruway much). It's probably the last thing in the world I needed right now. I feel like I'm barely holding on anyway, this just made it a bit harder, like someone stepping on my fingers while I'm dangling from the ledge. That iPod has been my best friend since the day I got it (anyone who worked with me at Windy Gap knows this—it's the only reason I kept my sanity all those hours working alone) and now it sort of feels like my situation is being mocked—a “if you think that was bad, wait for THIS,” game the heavens seem to be playing these past few months. My heart and my confidence are completely shot. There is a lesson in all of this; something I am supposed to come to know. I truly believe God loves me and wants the best for me—deeply I believe this. It aches how much I believe this, even as nothing in my present situation testifies so. It is in my core that this is a Truth. There are blessings in store for me because I am loved. I have to keep telling myself that over and over, keep telling myself He will be faithful to supply all of my needs when my needs keep getting bigger by the day, get more complex and personal, get more savage and carnal. If ever there was a time for God's loving blessing to be poured it would be now. I'm ready to leave all this wreckage behind me.

“How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and everyday have sorrow in my heart?....
Look on me and answer, O Lord my God.
Give light to my eyes or I will sleep in death...
But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation,
I will sing to the Lord
for he has been good to me.” --Psalm 13

(the title of this post is taken from the hymn “Take My Life and Let it Be”...the line is 'take my silver and my gold/not a mite would I withhold/take my intellect and use/every power as you choose.' Ouch.)

Self-starter

Feeling pretty low about the whole job thing today. Frustrated, stressed, discouraged--you know, the whole gamut. Job options just seem to get smaller and smaller--stuff I want to do less and less. And I'm less and less motivated to look; I want to hide under the covers and cry. I want to believe there is a plan and a purpose to all of this and I do, but today I'm needing a little more than simple assurance. I'm needing an effing job.