Can’t Have it All
It was a busy, productive, and somewhat disappointing morning. I was up early. That, in itself, wasn’t anything new; the alarm still goes off at 5:30 am during the week, just like it always did. However, unlike most weekends, I was out of the house by 9. I managed to get into the basement to find the box of comic books. He was right, it weighs a fucking ton. I’m guessing it’s probably roughly 50 lbs of comic books from the 90’s, with maybe a handful from my early 2000’s stash. I packed about a third of the collection into a box along with the four binders of trading cards and some NES cartridges, grabbed my folder of passport paperwork, some stuff to be mailed, and headed out.
My first stop was the local FedEx store to make some copies of my birth certificate and ID. That was easy enough. From FedEx, I went to the local post office that handles passport applications. Now, this is where the fun began. My schools were literally a 3 minute drive from the FedEx place, and about 10 minutes from the post office. I grew up in that area, and passed that post office on my way to school every day for 7 years. That was my stomping ground, and I could give directions to anywhere from anywhere in the city. Until today.
Someone has filled my city with traffic circles.
What in the everloving fuck is up with that?
After some confusion because there’s damned roundabouts EVERYWHERE, I eventually got to the post office to submit my passport application. My plan was to wait in the passport line, then mail the packages I had to mail. Unfortunately, this didn’t work out. You see, this post office doesn’t have lobby services, it’s a depot and only sorts and provides passport service. Jesus jumped up Christ on a pogo stick.
I waited about 45 minutes before I could submit my paperwork. When I arrived, the waiting room contained a family of four: parents and two girls. The father is trying (and failing) to remember everyone’s names and birthdays while he fills out the forms. The two girls are interrogating their mother about the tooth fairy, who had supposedly visited last week. Meanwhile, I’m stewing in annoyance about the post office THAT DOESN’T DO POST OFFICE THINGS, and mildly freaking out because I can’t remember if they accept debit cards here. However, all went ok. I didn’t get to mail my things there, but at least I got one important, time sensitive task crossed off my list.
From the post office, headed to the vintage comic/toy shop in the mall, avoiding all the fucking traffic circles this time. Thankfully, the shop’s entrance is right by the mall’s entrance. That, combined with a decent parking spot, made the multiple trips in and out a little more bearable. I went in with the binders first, figuring they’d probably want to look at them. Nope! They don’t really buy card sets and when it comes to comics, they’re only buying Silver Age and earlier.
Shit.
At this point, I’m happy I didn’t lug the 20 lbs of comics in, let alone the entire metal footlocker trunk. However, Comic Book Guy gladly took my box of NES controllers and cartridges. I took that cash and used it at FedEx to send out the packages the post office couldn’t do. A quick stop at the grocery store on the way home, and I was done with the weekend’s errands.
The rest of my day has been pretty uneventful. I had some lunch, and did a much-needed workout. Unlike the last three days of failed plans, I actually did the dishes. I packed a few more books up in the Pink Room, and went through the kitchen drawers to clear out things I won’t bother trying to sell or donate, mostly random duplicate items like bottle openers and utensils. A few pans will go out with the trash on Wednesday. I expect it things will be easier to clear out when I can get the boxes and bags out of the main dining room.
I’m taking a break from looking at cars tonight. The way I see it, if I’m not buying right at this moment, there’s no point. I don’t want to find something I really like, only to be disappointed in a few weeks when it’s no longer available. However, I did start making a wishlist of things I should get for the roadtrip. As I sell things, I’ll put that money towards gear. Even if I’m only planning for four days on the road, I want to be prepared if it goes longer and do shit right. Additionally, I’m trying to find gear that can work double duty whenever we find a place of our own.
Tomorrow, I’ll do some more clearing. I have a lot of stuff I’d like to get pictures of, starting with the smaller Lego sets.
I’ve never been keen on the unknown. I thrive on lists, and planning, itineraries and details. This road trip can’t be controlled once I hand over the house keys and drive off.
It’s a Blair Witch script: you’re on the road, and you wanna go here, but what happens along the way isn’t set in stone and you won’t know what’s happening until we throw that stone at the back of your head.
I don’t know what the future holds. I’m not sure I want to remain in the pharmacy biz. Next week is my 14th anniversary at my current job. That’s exactly one third of my life. I’m not exactly sure how to feel about that. Is it a good thing, that I’ve stayed in one place so long? Or is it a bad thing, staying in one place for so long, yet making just enough to consider it a “living wage”, but not enough for the risk of killing a patient due to a typo?
I’ve been toying with the idea of a baking side hustle. Some nights, when I’m feeling a little optimistic, I throw around thoughts of opening a bakery, or a little coffee shop. I’d sell muffins and cake and cinnamon rolls slathered in icing. All of my plates would be mismatched and thrifted and patrons could choose whichever one “spoke to them” that day. Shawshank plays the same “we’ll open a cafe” game as well. We bounce names for the place off each other during 20-minute calls and letters. He wrote up a menu; he’s got it all planned.
What if I don’t like Canada?
What if I can’t grasp the concept of liters versus gallons? I imagine all sort of scenarios, none of them good. I’ll hate living with his parents for that period of time before we can get our footing. Or, I hate the small town, or they’ll hate me. I’m not exactly small prairie town material.
What if I don’t like being the outsider?
Honestly, I should ask him about it. Almost twenty years ago, he uprooted his own life to cross the border and be with me. Granted, we were twenty years younger, and more carefree at the time, and I’m sure that factored into things. However, I remember one of the things that made him decide to move here. Unlike me, he didn’t really have anyone. His family lived a few days’ drive from where he was. He had a roommate he hated (fuck you, Rene). He had no strings. On the other hand, I had all of my family in one state. It seemed logical, at the time. Right now I’m in a similar situation; half the family has moved, some are dead, and some don’t seem to care.
But, back to the familiar.
I’m scared to leave. I’m leaving everything I’ve ever known. I grew up in a city only a 10-minute drive from here. It’s the type of city people make fun of for being the Hotel California of the state. “No one ever gets out of Warwick. You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.” And it’s fucking true. I moved out when I was 19, but only because Mom remarried and moved away while I worked on the cruise ship. After Shawshank and I moved out of our first place, we moved back to Warwick. I fact, we moved into the same apartment complex I grew up in.
And when he was detained by ICE, it was the first place I looked at rental prices for when I thought I’d have to move right away.
It’s familiar. But it’s not, not anymore. I drove across the city a few months ago and so much had changed, it really wasn’t my city anymore. This town has never felt like home, I’ve had to use the gps on more than one occasion to get across town.
Will I make this new place home?