Maybe not the most exciting way to spend my first weekend in the big city, but there you have it. I couldn’t have asked for a more fitting way to kick off my new life in my new city. A weekend totally free of work, a mind and body well rested, and eight-hundred crisp new pages waiting to be read. It encompassed a lot, this weekend with my book. And every bit of it wonderful.

I should probably back up a bit: I have a job, and a place to live, and have been in Texas for just over a month now. Most of that time spent in San Antonio, where I job hunted from my guest bedroom and spent my time with my very awesome friend in her very awesome and bustling household. I was blessed throughout my journey to stay with friends at every stop, none of whom I’d ever met in person, though I’ve known most for years. Anyone who would decry the internet as the enemy of community clearly hasn’t met the right online friends. Mine are amazing and generous and funny and lovely. Every one of them.

I left Maine on the fifteenth of February in the wee small hours of the morning. I was in Connecticut before the sun finally started to rise. I was nearly to Maryland by the time I actually saw the sun. Pennsylvania was cold and grey, as was West Virginia. It was also the last place I saw snow. February is February, though. The rest of the trip was brown and barren, even northern Texas, the only place where I woke up with my car coated in a thin layer of ice. I didn’t see a speck of green until I finally reached Austin, and if I hadn’t yet been convinced to lay down roots in that place, the green would have swayed me.

I drive to work now with the windows down, my sunglasses on, and the blue sky beating down on me. Texans tell me I’ll hate that hot sky come summer, and I don’t doubt they’re mostly right, but deep down I don’t think I could ever hate seeing the sun.

I drove from Maine to Virginia with a busted thermostat and the heat blasting, and after repairing the thermostat the next morning, I drove the shortest leg of the trip from Virginia to Ohio. I pulled into and out of Columbus in the dark, arriving late that night and leaving before dawn the next morning for my longest trek: Ohio to Oklahoma. I cranked my classic rock playlist a la Supernatural, and when that had grown old after several hours, I set my radio to ‘scan’ and just listened to the snippets of the Midwest.

I waved my hand to the St. Louis arch. I watched the clocks roll back as I crossed into the Central timezone. It was dark by the time I drove through Tulsa, and I don’t know if that made the city seem grander or smaller, but it was certainly the biggest city I’ve ever driving through. It went on and on in sprawl and gleaming neon lights. I have yet to fully wrap my head around it.

Oklahoma to Texas was a far shorter drive. Just a few hours to my friend’s place north of Dallas, and a scant five the next day to drive from Dallas to San Antonio (by way of austin, of course). I saw my first longhorn cattle there, outside of Austin. The city itself seemed so small and manageable next to St. Louis and Dallas and, heaven forbid, Tulsa. Sized just right for a small town girl.

The day before Austin, I had crossed the border into Texas, and felt a weight lift from my shoulders that I hadn’t even felt myself carrying. A physical sensation, like a heavy load being lifted right off of me, and I breathed out all of the tension and unease that I think I have been holding for a bit longer than a year. I was finally here, back to the place that I’d had never really wanted to leave. And no I didn’t get out and kiss the ground. It was as grey and rainy in Texas as it had been in Oklahoma. Just as brown, just as murky, nothing different and everything changed. I texted my mom. Stopped to take a photo. Kept on driving.

I was in San Antonio for three weeks. I spent hours on my computer and on the phone, I drove to Austin several times for interviews, and tried to let go of what was out of my control. I spent a lot of time with my friend and her family – kids, dogs and cats – which made the move from my own full house a little less jarring. We spent a lovely Sunday afternoon at the San Antonio Riverwalk, and even went to see The Chieftans perform at the Lila Cockrell Theater. That concert was the first time I felt well and truly homesick. I miss my family, and I miss my house, and I’m so very happy here in Texas. It’s the sort of contradiction that takes a while to settle.

I got a job, and more than that, the job I wanted, just two weeks ago today. Within three days I had a place to live in Austin, thanks (yet again) to a friend. This time it was my fellow wicked awesome friend Kayla, fellow Yankee expat, without whom I’d have never come to Austin in the first place. She is more amazing than she knows, and I love her to pieces. Kayla rocks the Austin life and I have to remind myself to give it time. I’ve only been here a week. And a sick, miserable week at that.

A cold hit me on Saturday. I’d come up from San Antonio on Friday afternoon, to go out with Kayla and her hubs to a friend’s family ranch. And by that, I mean a real, live, working ranch, with cows and cattle dogs and large tracts of land covered by mesquite and prickly pear, and passable only by pickup. Or horse.

We spent a night at the ranch, but I was well and truly ill by the time we got back to Austin. A bad chest cold that joined forces with the brutal allergies that assail all Austinites to make my first week in my new city a sniffling, hacking misery. I moved in with my new roommate on Sunday. I started my new job on Monday. By Tuesday I was voiceless. By Wednesday I had amassed a small pharmacy in my new bathroom. By Thursday the Claritin and Zyrtec finally started to kick in. Friday came and I was still froggy-throated, but feeling well enough to venture out to the movies. I’ve gone to the movies all by myself twice now since I’ve been in Texas. Just more in a long list of firsts.

I also saw my first cockroach today, and am proud to say that I freaked out only a little…though that was mainly for fear of provoking it.

I have a roommate now, and my own bathroom, and my own garage space that I pull out of every morning and back into every evening, just another commuter in the neighborhood. There are no pets in the house, which is strange, and I have yet to master cooking for just one person so I’ve been living off leftovers all week. My new job is interesting, and I really like my coworkers. The dress code is relaxed, jeans and t-shirts, and in two weeks I’ll have a cubicle of my own to personalize as I see fit. I have an hour long lunch break which I’ve taken to using as quiet reading time, hence the rediscovered appreciation for absorbing myself in a long book. My commute is easy, and a little long, but being in the car is pime recharging time and I find I don’t begrudge the traffic at all.

The sun may also have something to do with that.

In short, I am here. There is so much more to tell, and I will…once I read a few more chapters of my book.

where I’ve been: Here.

When my depression kicked in I thought, “No one wants to read a blog by someone who is all blah blah blah, I am depressed.” So instead you’re reading a blog by someone who is all, “It’s amazing what supplements and a reprieve from paid sleep deprivation will do to relieve depression.”

You know, so I don’t have to be all “blah blah blah.”

Yes, I am still freezing my appendages off in the Great White North. No success with the job hunt yet, and I made the executive decision to take a break for the holidays and come back to it with renewed enthusiasm in the new year. Because if anything is motivating, it’s the idea of being here for another February in New England.

what I’ve been doing: Tumblr-ing!

^{(click to visit my Tumblr blog)}

What is Tumblr? It’s like Facebook-meets-Twitter-meets-blogging. It’s an incredibly nerdy little corner of the internet where memes are born and you can find just about anyone who’s really, really into that thing (or things) that you’re really, really into. It’s like social networking for the socially awkward, and all you have to do to be involved is just jump in with both feet. Tumblr is all about freeing yourself from the fear of being *too* into something. If you love it, love it loud. Shout it from the rooftops. Reblog a hundred photos of it. Tumblr is what you make of it, and my experience has been that it’s smart and creative, and a haven for the highly visual. Hell, there’s even a Tumblr ballad.

in summary:

what I’m listening to: Girl Bands

I was pretty jazzed when Florence + the Machine released Ceremonials at the beginning of November.

I then proceeded to listen to it about a hundred times over.

Then a few weeks ago, someone on Tumblr posted this music video:

I am in love with this video. I love the concept, I love the art direction. I think it’s brilliant and empowering, and I’m recommending it to everyone. Also, I am completely and totally obsessed with this song mix.

No, really.

So of course I bought Marina & the Diamonds’ The Family Jewels and I love it. LOVE. IT.

I may just have a thing for girl bands with a stylized “and” in their name.

what I’m watching: Nerd Stuff

This has not been a good television season so far. Supernatural is tanking, Sanctuary just tanked, and The Office has begun it’s slow and inevitable demise.

Oh yeah, and Community is on an indefinite hiatus.

The only show I’ve been really *excited* about is Once Upon a Time. It’s interesting and fun and has no problem embracing its campy side. But still Hannah and I were itching for a new show to get into and work our way through, whole seasons at a time. Enter…

Full confession: I’ve never been much of a Trekker. I watched all of the movies, but only occasionally caught an episode (save for the multiple-hour marathon I watched while Mom was in labor with Hannah). Prior to this month, I had only seen enough Deep Space Nine to know that it was set on a space station, the Ferengi were very ugly, and Dr. Julian Bashir was very, very cute.

That right there is face of my 13 year old self’s crush.

You may laugh, but a few years later I started watching Stargate SG:1 because of one Dr. Daniel Jackson, and truly began my descent into nerdom. My teen self seems to have been drawn to men with advanced degrees.

But I don’t think I would have appreciated Deep Space Nine as much then as I do now. It’s a slightly more serious Trek, layered with issues that I would not have understood or appreciated back then. The characters are so strong and so diverse that you can get a little spoiled before you realize that not all TV is like this. And as for the doctor?

He’s still pretty cute.

I’ve also been watching Kings, NBC’s short-lived attempt to modernize the story of King David.

It’s an interesting show, in that it’s really not *bad*. It seems to have suffered from being a little too high concept and a little too reliant on allusions that the audience may not always catch. It plays out much like a modernized Shakespeare tale, with rich dialogue and solid performances. David is a somewhat bland protagonist, but the other characters more than make up for his lack of depth and pathos. I’ve really enjoyed it a lot, and it’s a shame that NBC gave up on yet another truly original show.

 ________________________________________

So that’s what I’ve been up to for the past, oh, two months or so. It’s the new year now and all I have to say to 2012 is…

Bring. It. On.

 On Friday we headed off on our ‘epic’ road trip: a 100 mile loop through New Hampshire’s White Mountains.

The forecast had been threatening rain for most of the week, but it turned out to be a gorgeous day.

The only clouds in the sky were big, fluffy, and thoroughly postcard-worthy.

This landscape is so foreign to me that it really feels as though I’m in another part of the country.

New England is a squashed up bunch of not-so-big states (and one commonwealth; yes, Massachusetts, I heard you). While each place is unique, they are similar enough to give the whole region a cohesive identity. I am a New Englander.

Still, it’s funny the differences that crop up with just these few miles of distance between us. My fondest memories of New England are memories of the coast: of the sunrise at Nubble Light, cute coastal villages, the feeling of sand in my sneakers and cold salt spray whipping at my hair.

But New England is not all coastline – it’s not even mostly coastline – and where I grew up with the beach as my playground, many of my friends grew up knowing the rugged New Hampshire inland like the back of their hands.

I think New Hampshire can often get overlooked, and not just by outsiders. Maine has the beaches, Vermont has the Green Mountains (and the hippies), Massachusettes and Connecticut have the cities, and Rhode Island is just…well, small. New Hampshire may not have the beaches, and it doesn’t have the big name cities, but I’m not sure than any other New England state can compete for the sheer, wild beauty of New Hampshire’s interior. Where Vermont’s mountains roll across the landscape in a way that’s almost gentle, the White Mountains are harder, wilder. They jut up from behind the forest and cut into the sky. These mountains, the lakes, the rivers and rocks: to me they are exotic, and stunningly beautiful.

At the end of our drive, we stopped for a swim in the Kancamagus River.

fun tip: want to pronounce Kancamagus correctly locally?

Kang-uh-MANG-us. 

I am a writer, as the natural inclination of my creative drive and my particular introverted disposition. Though I rarely take the time to write them down, I always have at least one creative narrative unfolding in my head. It’s how I function and thrive.

The problem lately is that my inner world looks a little something like this:

Summertime, sunshine and – most significantly – chronic sleep deprivation have switched my brain into full-on ADD mode. Were I well rested, I would write research papers for fun (I would, really. It’s a sickness.) In my current state, I have trouble stringing together a single coherent thought. Hannah can attest to how often I will use the wrong word in conversation, or simply forget words entirely.

But I really don’t want to dwell on the negatives. My deliriously incoherent summertime self is vastly preferable to my sullenly disjointed wintertime self, who looks more like this:

If I’m going to be strung out, I’d rather be strung out and happy. It’s a life choice.

So, it’s not so much that blogger’s block has struck. It’s that every time I want to write a post, it looks less like a collection of well-thought out sentences, and more like a string of random letters, exclamations and GRATUITOUS CAPSLOCKING. It’s internet speak, and lately it’s the only thing that’s left in my brain.

That, and movie/television references. I could talk all day in references. Sometimes I literally can’t stop myself. I’m an Abed.

So do I give in to the flail? Post what’s actually on my brain and have a fun time doing it? I think that, perhaps, I should. A couple weeks ago, I saw Thor and X-Men, and I actually was able to write a cogent review of both. It took me two days, but hey – who’s counting? I want to post more about the movies. I want to spew my love of Marvel and my thoughts about The Avengers, because aslkf;jal;skhgalk;sjfd it’s going to be EPIC. I want to gush about my TV shows and share the all the stupid stuff I find around the internet and spam Hannah’s inbox with, because I know she’ll laugh about it too.

I’ve had this blog for over 6 years now. Its tone has changed a lot over the years, as I’ve changed. There’s an ebb and flow to the style of the posts, like pins on a map that say, “Hey, I was there.” Where am I now? In the land of little sleep, where I’m getting ready to move but enjoying my summer, perpetually zombified and trying to make the most of my free time, living in my head and on the web, engrossed in pop culture and incessantly nerdy. I’m quite happy here, for now. I know that it’s just a layover. Might as well commemorate my time.

It was cold, for June. A storm front was moving in, the same one that brought a tornado crashing down on Springfield, and the wind whipped hair into our mouths and eyes. The Maine coast is beautiful, but stark. The only things that exist here are those that can withstand the battering of wind and waves and the sharp, salty air.

We stand on the beach and look out over the ocean and say, “We’re standing on the edge of our country. Right now, standing on the edge of America.” We sink our toes into the sand and feel like we’re a part of something much bigger.