Revolving Doors: End of Journey/First Day Jitters

Day #8 Miles: 246

Day #8 States: California

States Total: 13

Ohio
Kentucky
Tennessee
Georgia
Alabama
Mississippi
Louisiana
Texas
Oklahoma
New Mexico
Arizona
Nevada
California

Mileage Total: 3081 miles

So I'm here. Been here for a few days, but with no internet connection in my apartment, blogging becomes difficult. So I'm sitting in the "Cafe" area of the Safeway grocery store in my neighborhood, enjoying the free wifi and taking a second to write. It's been a trying few days. 

Let's start with the travel. 

I woke up, got coffee-ed and fueled in Bakersfield, CA... which was obviously a super-classy place (see below).

And then I drove through California, which is a lot of farmland leading up to rolling hills and mountains nearing the water. 

Hands down, the worst part of the trip was driving past the commercial cattle factory (not pictured above due to sheer disgust). Thousands and thousands of cows in a confined space. I turned off the music in the car and for miles just listened to the noises of pained mooing. And the smell. Dear lord, the smell! It was methane gas and fertilizer and the smell of something rotting for miles. It was disgusting, and sad to see. They barely had room to walk around and the ground was just brown with shit and mud. No grazing. No pasture. Horrifying. Made the executive decision to never farm cattle for a living. In fact, the next time I see a cow, I'm giving him a $20. He's had a hard life. 

But soon enough I arrived at my new place of living. I remain skeptical to call it home.

The grounds are great, the building is great, and everything went just fine. It was just very, eerily empty. Like it wasn't a place where a person was intended to live. Sounds echoed lightly off the walls and high ceilings, and the balcony overlooks the road out front where cars speed past going to things and accomplishing normal, adult tasks like functioning people. Because they aren't new here. They aren't lost. They aren't transplants.

Before my stuff arrived, I did what I could to make it feel homey. 

But urban camping is far from cozy. 

So before my stuff arrived, I did what anyone would do: I bought some food, I bought some supplies (like toilet paper), and I watched a guy rob a Target. No really. Nothing makes you feel comfortable and at home like watching a man walk through a Target with a backpack, loading it up at every opportunity, and then run past the cash registers and out the door past security guards that just nodded their heads as if to say, "Well shit, that happens every day. Too bad". 

I also spent a lot of time at Ikea, where I purchased a lot of new furniture, which prompted my aunt and cousin to come over and help me build everything. 

And because my aunt visited, now the edible contents of my apartment include instant coffee, yogurt, and.... 5 bottles of wine. Just a casual housewarming gift, you know? Although drinking heavily would be my typical response to this level of emotional stress, it doesn't really appeal to me right now. I'm so desperate to find something inspiring or comforting or funny that I don't want to get wined up and miss it. 

My stuff arrived 2 days ago, and I met one neighbor while unloading things, but I don't know his apartment number or phone number, so I still can't call them a friend. Or call them at all. Getting everything inside quickly was a relief, because sleeping on a bed is important. It was more cozy than sleeping in a bag on the floor, but the red pattern of my comforter looked strange and out of place in this new apartment. It did make my back feel a lot better. 

I visited and shopped with two soon-to-be coworkers that I met through my recruiter who are also new to the area. I also spent some time with Rachel and Dave, friends of a friend, and their delightful pooch, Tater. He's fat and adorable. Rachel introduced me to the best coffee in the area:

But ending a long journey, arriving in a new place, moving into a new apartment, urban camping, unloading, unpacking, trying to make some empty rooms feel homey, and trying to work up the nerve to show up for a new job... it's exhausting both physically and emotionally. 

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't spent an hour up last night at 1am (4am Cleveland time) sobbing. And not the delicate, ladylike sobbing that you see on TV. The kind of sobbing where your abs hurt afterwards from hunching over and your mouth is open wide, but you can't quite take in enough air to scream, so you sound like a tea kettle. And everything you're wearing gets soaked with tears and boogers and sweat. The kind of sobbing that's physically exhausting, and when you can finally peel yourself off of the floor all you feel is cold and clammy and empty. I spent 30 minutes using every resource I knew to find someone that would be awake so I could have someone to talk to. But I have no internet in my apartment. And bad cell reception. So I fell asleep alone, covered in boogers, crying while looking at pictures of my dearly missed dog, that I won't get to snuggle with for maybe months. 

It's disorienting. Looking at Twitter and seeing friends out with friends, having fun and being social and feeling disconnected from the world you knew. I had family nearby, I had friends I love dearly, I had coworkers that were among the best people in the world. And now I know 4 people that live within a 30 minute drive. So I started to question everything. 'Sure, I was seriously unhappy with my job, but the people I worked with were amazing and I knew how things worked'. 'Yeah, this is a cool opportunity, but why would I give up people that have known me forever'. 'Why would I move to a place where it isn't even convenient to talk to my friends from the time difference?'. It's bad. And everyone keeps telling me that it'll get better and I'll meet new friends and I'll find my way around and I'll work things out.

A: "So I'm really stressed out and miserable."
Everyone: "Don't worry! You have hope."

Really people? That doesn't help!

I really appreciate everyone's support. I'm just stressed out because everything is alien. Outside of missing people, I miss knowing how to get places, and knowing where all my crap is, and knowing the sounds the house will make in the middle of the night and knowing how to sit on the counter top in the kitchen so that I don't smack my face on the cabinets (OUCH, by the way). 

So just let me whine for awhile and stress-eat ice cream and get sick from lactose intolerance. I'll wise up and get over it. And as Dan says, I'll... "Start the job and get into a routine. Life will settle in. And it will all make sense again". 

I want it to all make sense again. 

I just sit have to sit with uncertainty. And be scared of the permanence of the situation. 

And quietly accept that my apartment is where cardboard boxes go to die. 

NOTE: A lot of people have asked if, post-journey, I'll be continuing this blog. I will. But entries will be less regular and the topics will be less consistently travel-related. But it's a great place to post pictures of life and write the contents of a very full brain. So, if you like, check back soon!