Hoosier in a Strange Hoosier Land

Well, I'm back in Rensselaer and in front of a computer again for the first time in a week. I'm a little sleepy right now, but my Internet thirst must be quenched with a blog post or I'll be lying in bed and feeling guilty about not providing my readership with an update on my New and Fabulous Life. So, here I go.

First of all, the movers. Love them! It was absolutely wonderful to sit back and watch total strangers pack up my books, breakables, and movie collection; manuever every piece of furniture down my narrow, spiral-like stairway; and haul it up to my second-floor apartment in Indianapolis. Luke and I didn't do a thing the entire time they were there, which made us feel like lazy, good-for-nothing-preppy-snob bums, but that's why they were getting paid $100 an hour EACH and why I tipped them $20...EACH. They made out like bandits, and frankly, since the moving bill is going straight to my new employer, so did I. Absolutely wonderful. (You can read Luke's thoughts on the big day here.)

And then the Target runs began.

Did I mention there is a Super Target in the same zip code as me? Well, it's worth mentioning again, because we spent about 20 hours there shopping for food, furniture, and other fun things. No milk? Time for Target! Interested in a shredder? Better go to Target! Jelly Belly refill? Target, Target, Target! It also turns out there's a wider variety of shopping options than I originally thought. At last count, there are at leave five Applebee's, four Starbucks, several branches of my bank, three different movie theaters, TWO malls, a Ben and Jerry's, and one Original Pancake House, which makes my favorite pancakes ever (banana chunks cooked right in!). However, none of that was enough to comfort me after Luke left for home. Of course I cried, and later on it was really hard to get to sleep, as I knew the Devil and Chucky and other creatures of the night would surely capture me and throw me into the pits of hell now that I was left to fend for myself. I have resorted to playing one of my Sophie B. Hawkins CDs at lights-out; this tricks my brain (and the Devil?) into thinking there is another flesh-and-blood human being in the room on call to protect me 24/7. It's the next best thing to a night-light.

I still have a lot to get used to. There are bruises all over my legs, arms, and even hands from bumping into unfamiliar corners and sharp edges, and my neighborhood is plagued with m*****f***ing medians, which is why I almost drove straight into a semi after getting gas on Sunday night. Then I went home and proceeded to dream about smashing the Dakota and losing car insurance and bussing it for the rest of my life. Thankfully, that did not happen, and yesterday I traded in for an easier-to-manuever Grand Am, thus demoting me from driving on top of the world to just below it. But it's only for another two to three weeks, as my insurance company has declared my car totally fixable. Which, after comparing the damage between the Cavalier and the Cobalt, OF COURSE it is. I doubt the engine received any damage at all. So that's all well and good.

But I'm lonely. Here I am with all this time on my hands, and mostly I'm in my apartment, alone, wondering if my former colleagues have forgotten my name, if I'll ever make solid friendships in Indy, and if my friends up north will eventually write me off as "the girl who lives too far away to justify a visit." Plus, worried, worried, worried that my sister doubts my ability to be a good maid of honor now that I'm three and a half hours away and her wedding is fewer than three and a half MONTHS away. Everything snowballed into one big cry last night, after I finally settled in to watch the Sex and the City series finale Luke taped for me and discovered the last 10 minutes were shaved off. Bawl, sob, hiccup, sob. That was me.

All of this nonsense basically reveals that my life right now, while certainly New, is not yet Fabulous. It's getting better, though. Besides, life can't be too bad when this is the view you have from your balcony.

Plus, I spewed all of my feelings onto Luke (poor guy), and we eventually shot over to Wal-Mart so I could buy the Sex DVD that features The Reunion of Carrie and Big That I Knew All About But Had To See For Myself. (For that I paid 37 bucks, and it didn't even feature the complete last season. What a sucker.) Also, I'm going back to Indianapolis tonight to see a musical about menopause. How many times does a gal get to say THAT?

Comments

[Diane Arias]

OK, Frema baby... excellent blog on your moving experience and warding off the devil with a soothing CD when you found yourself alone in a strange hoosier land.

ACCIDENTS, ACCIDENTS, more car accidents. Just yesterday I rear-ended someone on an I-65 off-ramp returning home from SJC. Right after the woman stopped screaming at me we all hear a screech and a bang. Same type of accident happened while we waited for the cop to arrive. *sigh*

[Adam]

Dear . . . God . . . I forgot your name!

Moving can be a bipolar experience -- it's exciting to collect all your things and move them to a new and interesting place, but there inevitably comes a down point where you realize that
you no longer have your routine and the same support network.

Finding those things of life that define who you are and how you like to spend your time can help in getting settled in. It will be fun to find "your" new coffeeshop. Or your new favorite place to get those "girlie" drinks you like to get. Or your new favorite used bookstore. Or your new parish home, if you're into that. Or your new reading group, yoga class, cooking class, etc. etc.

Enjoy Indy!

[Luke]

Monkeyfacing medians?