♥ Some (3) trashy crap books... No, I'm totally not already halfway through the second Twilight book, why would you ask that?
♥ All art supplies, ever
♥ Leftover Pizza, canned goods, snacks, chocolate
♥ a charged cellphone & laptop
♥ A crate of liquor
I really don't think this is going to be the storm of the century in Putnam County- I certainly haven't bought four gallons of water. I'm actually a little disappointed to be missing out on all the amusing insanity which is sure to be NYC this weekend, but I'm sure it's all for the best. Somebody else will take better photos of it than I could.
This is not to say that I'm making light of a dangerous situation- please, please follow any safety instructions given to you by your local disaster center, and be safe as you can be. But seriously folks, calm down a little. Use your heads.
A month ago I told you I would be right back, but then the internet never got any better & I started working 16 hour days in the Theater which had no internet whatsoever.
But now I am free! The lovely Boyfriend met me in Chautauqua where we relaxed for a few days while I finished work, before continuing on to Utica. Boyfriend has decided to go to Grad school there & starts on Monday, so we need to find an apartment for him yesterday. We are young & broke, so driving around looking at crack dens & swearing at the GPS is our idea of a vacation.
I discovered a few things while working in the Costume Shop which will hopefully inform my future career choices, but right now I'm looking for a short-term, winter season type of retail or restaurant type of employment. On Monday I will once again wander the 5 Boroughs looking for employment, since going back to that specific catering company might actually cost me my soul. Gotta keep swimming, gotta keep that head above the water, since them bills don't pay themselves, and that theater company barely paid me.
Is this perhaps unwise? Would our great political leaders advise me to look at the bigger picture & take an entry-level job in a company I respect? Probably. But Don Draper ain't running the game anymore, I have to have a Masters to be a cubicle monkey, and company loyalty doesn't count for shit these days. Welcome to the land of opportunity (at least we're not getting shot at). So instead I continue to take short-term employment that is way below my education level to be able to afford the privilege of not being one of my many, many fellow recent graduates who can't afford to move out of the house until they're 26.
And that is ultimately the reason I have any pride & think of myself as successful, by the way- I live in an apartment that I pay for. Myself. With money I earned. Do you know how freakin' thrilling that is?
It seems un-American to fire the standing army of scientists, mathematicians, chemists who make the big thing fly. Weren't we told in school that being good at math was important, that there was no more honorable trade than beating the Soviets?
But budgets must be balanced, and dreams must be slashed, like the LaBrea tar pits rendered as a cement hole in the ground. Now being good at Math is important so you can be another hedge fund manager. Lord knows we need more bankers.
This disintegration of the space program feels like a personal attack, somehow. Once again the American child's dream of space flight is in a book, in a science fiction movie. Space has been returned to the land of the imagination.
Thank goodness it's true that any child can still grow up to be the president.
I have an unofficial competition going with myself to dress cute every day that I am here. I have to be a little practical since I climb ladders to hoist the iron bag every once in a while, but for the most part, I am living it up- no NYC creeps to avoid, no movement classes requiring hideous workout clothes. I AM FREE! And how glorious it is.
I do find it somewhat difficult to sneak away and take pictures at times, since it kind of embarrasses me, but here we go: the Chautauqua Outfits, so far.
Here I am in early June: you'll notice it was still cool enough for jeans and a sweater. I'm feeling practical, but still am overdressed in comparison to most of the carpenters and painters.
Here is an average shop day outfit, complete with headscarf which means I didn't feel like washing my hair that day. No lie.
And here is the most ridiculous outfit available to me: a glittery gold opening night soiree not-too-sweaty tent. I think it was worth not being able to afford groceries for a week, don't you?
Looking at these houses every day makes me want one, but I'm not sure if I could live in this exact community.
It's quaint, it's scenic, and there ain't nobody here to bother you 40 weeks a year. It's the perfect place to hole yourself up in your attic writing-lair and bang out the next great American novel.
Unfortunately, I am a theater nut, and my visual art inspiration comes from other people- art is the point at which two bodies meet in space and define, change, shape one another. Also, the houses are all shoved up against one another, which is fun for a few weeks in the summer, but probably a little tedious after a while. No yard? Where does one throw the ball with the dog? Where do we put the grill and the hammock? It's not all going to fit on the porch.
I'm glad the season has started. I like to watch the crowds as they stroll past me & my evening beer on the porch. There are other excited people around (maybe sometimes too excited). We run and we fetch and we swim at night, and there is a nonstop stream of inspiration coming at me.
I awake, 8 AM, like a dog expecting breakfast. But today is Sunday, and I am on a shop schedule.
Consciousness returns at 11, the house stirring around me. Laughter bubbles up from the porch. I know Kelly is showering, because the hallway smells of Pert. Keri will shower next, and the smell will be lavender. Brandon blows his nose through my thin wall. Ryan will not return until eventide.
It is muggy here on the second floor. It is always, always muggy, and I don't have enough money to pay off the heat.
The kitchen is the cool morning dark, and the coffee pot still drips, although nobody comes to the kitchen until I have whistled the kettle and set up on this couch.
Today is a day for preparation, for crossing things off the to-do list. A day like any other, really.