Latent Effects 5/10/2009
Fragments of last night add together and make for a decent evening. Stogies, walks in the rain, and the briefest segment of Firefly. Wine garnered from the kindness of good friends, while I mourned the coming of my utter penilessness. Talked with Kenny and John about books and the sudden return of what I call "Jersey Hands". I tend to gesture wildly as a side effect of being back in PA for too long. I can't effect a british accent because remnants of a northeastern one has crept in in its place. Its really sort of funny. Jill showed up and we did the meaningful stare across the bar of two people who know each other too well. The group of us marveled at the increasingly younger crowd that elbowed their way into the uncomfortable warmth of the room. I shook my fist in (almost) jest. The storm churned all around, ozone and lightning, noize enough to dwarf the speakers. The roadtrip to Easton was eventful, a few interviews, one maxed out credit card and 500 plus mile drives and awkward reunions with obnoxiously good looking "friends" from the old neighborhood later...I'm back in Purgatory plotting my next course of action.
The interview I had just before I drove back seems interested, and a really good fit, so I'm jazzed they're caling me back for a second interview this week. Of course, I can't afford...well...anything...let alone travel, but I think I've got that worked out. Or at least I hope. Fingers crossed. The other thing I can't afford? Not recouping some of these awful monitary losses. Being THIS broke? All sorts of demoralizing.
And this one I like from a month or so earlier:
the Traveler 5/3/2009
Right now, I'm sitting in my sister's slightly cluttered dining room with a wee bit of time to kill. I've been in Easton a few odd, overcast days, and have felt a swell of the typical nostalgia (with the inevitable stings of dashed expectations) followed by the more humbling stumble back down to earth. That trip is shaped by reunions, both bittersweet and embarassing, and the ultimite realization that with coming full circle, there's that end of the line. The point of the ride where one can no longer afford coach nor carriage, and can no longer maintain that ruse. The traveler becomes disloged from his place in timeif ever such a place was truly secured for him at all) and finds himself a resident in a strange country. One where the landscape is unfamilar and uncertian and the customs unknowable. One pauses, uncertian of his step but fully aware that the next move is of incredible importance, the respite of considerable need. The stumble need not be a permanent fall, and one hopes for the ability to dust onself off quickly and properly enough to avoid lingering for too long a spell. One hopes to find a compass. One hopes the wind will change