In the time it takes you to read this you could have written back to me.

Risk be damned

I watched the CBS Sunday Morning show this morning, as I typically try to do every Sunday morning, and today Ben Stein's commentary had significant impact. It was about happy people vs. unhappy people, and how you end up in one category or the other. Essentially, the happy ones

"decided to do what their hearts told them to do, to do what was in them to do. They took risks and they took chances, and they tried a lot of different things until they got to where they wanted to be.

This very often means working incredibly hard and living on the edge. But it gets you to where you can look back on your life and say it wasn't wasted."

While his inadvertent moral support got me pumped to be a poet and to be among the few Americans who follow their hearts and stay true to themselves, it got me thinking about alternate meanings of "risk" and why I feel I might puke for the duration of the 6 hour drive on moving day. (Well, it's all stuff I've thought of before, but now I'm vocalizing it.)

I'm not scared that my endeavor will fail. I have no question about my capabilities and my future success. Granted, there are a lot of gray areas in my process because I'm really shooting in the dark, having never attempted something this life-changing before. But I'm not afraid of failure in that sense. Good things will come of this. I'll establish a good career that I enjoy, and I'll meet amazing people. And I know that this is what I need to do; this is who I am.

But what happens to everyone I leave behind? How many will I never see again? In what ways will we grow apart? Will they get used to not having me around? Will I get used to not being around? Will we replace each other? The principal risk lies with the people I love, and I wonder how far-reaching will be the impact of my move.

You see, it's not that I can't live without them; I just don't see the point.

I don't know why I only write late at night. My sleep is all sorts of fucked from staying up late trying to have meaningful connections with friends. I work from 2-10, hang out from 10-2, sleep from 2-10. My day in 8 hour increments. I recently started getting those sleep headaches. Like the ones you get kind of above your eyebrows that make you squint and want to pass out everywhere. I miss my buds. My security blanket is getting on a plane tomorrow for another hemisphere.

What am I going to do in stupid fucking Boston.

Oh yeah, and I've been reading The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz. Not really sure what the point is yet. I'm almost half-way through the fucking thing and it's all back-story. Everything is happening in the super past tense just to give you a sense of what a character's deal is. But so far I don't think anything has actually happened. Maybe I'm missing something. It's like Sherman Alexie meets Jonathan Safran Foer, and I don't like Sherman Alexie AT ALL.

Please, someone understand what I mean.

To-do List

1. TETANUS SHOT

Family doctor referred me to the Bucks County Health Clinic since I don't have insurance. Called the Q-town office (or what I thought was the number for the Q-town office since it's listed on the county's website under "Quakertown Health Office"), left a message. Received a rather snotty message the next day from a woman (she's what kids today would call a huge bitch) firmly and loudly explaining that I didn't call the right number, I need to call the number for the main office and the woman I left a message for is out on sick leave. In the same amount of time she could have simply answered my question, which was, "Do you offer tetanus shots?" Waited days to call back because I don't want to be pricked by huge bitches. Called today forgetting it's Memorial Day. Thinking about calling Emerson tomorrow to see just how mandatory this shot is.

On PA roadkill

In rural PA, the Third Reich's coal mine, maggots have a habit of gutting dead deer via asshole. On the side of Rt. 81 there was one--stiff and eaten out, something like black tar seeping from it's hind. R---- said it's most likely shit, the thing probably shat itself twice--once on impact and again as its body died--but it could also be flies or blood or something. A couple miles away, another one. Its rigid startled legs pointed at me. A hole in its under belly at least the size of my torso exposed its chest cavity. You could probably crawl in and sleep.

Happenings: things found

1. Found out that itchy red patch of dry skin in my right arm pit is eczema. Found out it's the same as the patch that has popped up on the back of my neck along my hair line off and on for the last year. Got some cream for it.

2. Found a roommate. His name is Daniel. He's 28 and we've never met. It's possible he'll kill me. It's possible I'll kill him. Anything is possible.

3. Discovered approximately 3 reasons why I can't wait to get out of PA, specifically Quakertown (rednecks, over-abundance of fast food, how the town is a vacuum and if you stay too long you'll never get out), and approximately 5,768 reasons why I'm homesick already.

4. A general area to live in: Porter/Davis Square in Somerville, MA. Near Harvard. Accessible by the red line. Maybe 15-20 mins to school, but I have no idea. My move date will be 9/1.

5. Noticed a large Nazi flag hanging in the living room window of a house about a block away from my brother's new home in Mt. Carmel, PA. It's a living ghost town known for it's coal mines/mountains. Everyone I saw was dead with their eyes open. I walked ten minutes to and from the gas station, uncomfortable and somewhat nervous that everyone I passed could see that I loved a Muslim and that they would probably hang me for being a traitor. A large dog tried to jump through a window at me. Twice.

6. One by one, we'll leave and never really know how much of us is left behind.

Broke is an understatement

The details of school/moving are starting to flesh out. This is a mixed blessing. I've been trying desperately (blindly, haphazardly, confusedly, etc) to propel this thing forward, and with that comes the nauseating reality of costs. If Emerson would please hurry up and send my financial aid statement, I can get my personal loan and have some false breathing room.

Fuck if this isn't the most stressful undertaking. Ever.

My trip to Boston over the weekend was useful in acclimating me to the area around Emerson. I got a general idea of where some of the neighborhoods are in relation to school, and I mastered the subway. Boston seems really small compared to Philly. Also, it's unbelievably cleaner and more efficient. And super expensive. O0f.

Anywho, looks like I'm not moving till Sept. 1. I've found a couple apartments that seem nice, but I'm not ready to commit, and I can't go up again any time soon to look in person or sign documents. I wish Boston was where NYC is. And I wish NYC just didn't exist.

So, in closing, my booky blog is turning into my moving-process blog. I guess that's ok.