A year ago, I was preparing for my trip to Bisbee, which turned out to be one of the most productive weeks of my writing life. This year, I'm killing time in random cities, random hotels, and not preparing enough for my move to Chicago.
I did find out this week that I got the apartment (studio) in Buena Park, so I've been spending a lot of time on Ikea's website, googling "small room organizing," and reading decorating magazines. I think I'm going to buy this loft, which is big enough for a double bed, and make a little writing nook under it. I don't know what I'm going to do about a couch yet...maybe nothing. I know I am trying to move as little furniture as possible so I don't have to rent a truck and try to drive it through Chicago. Who knows, maybe I'll have enough cash left to buy one of Ikea's cute little loungers, too, and then I'll have somewhere for guests to crash. If everyone who says they're going to come visit really does, I'll have someone crashing every weekend until Christmas!
The BBQ thing is getting old. There's been a lot of drama and a lot of...I don't know what else to call it but bad karma. One of our crew broke his hand in two places, there were two awful storms last week and our whole tent blew over during one of them, we got a flat tire on our way to Iowa yesterday. It's just one thing after another. It's hard working outside: it's either too hot, too windy, or too rainy. We've had one or two perfect days, but usually I'm sweating my butt off or wearing a sweatshirt and chasing napkins around. And then there's the customers. I forgot how much I hate working with the public. A lot of people tell me that I'm a "people person," but I think I'm just good at pretending. The truth is, 90% of the people I've encountered this summer I wouldn't want to again. Is it so hard, really, to make up your mind while you're standing in line for 30 minutes so you don't have to stand at the counter going, "umm, well, do I want ribs or chicken?" And seriously, don't ever talk on your phone and make me wait until you're done. There are 40 hungry, cranky people behind you, and one tired, cranky person in front of you, and if you keep talking, we're all going to hurt you. One more thing and then I'm done ranting. If it's windy and you put your money/napkins/any other paper product on the counter, it's going to blow away. Duh. At this point, I think it's safe to say I will have no desire to ever attend another outdoor festival. At least not one where food is the main attraction.
The rest of the summer should go by pretty quickly, though. Maybe too quickly. I have 2 more weeks of work, then a week off in which I will pack and drive to Chicago to pick up my keys and drop off some stuff. Then I have to work 4 days, and then I'm off until Labor Day...but during that time, I'll be moving the rest of my stuff, driving home for my going away party, driving (or taking the train) back for orientation...you get the drift. The next six weeks are going to be rough. I guess I'll probably survive, though.
In the mean time, I haven't written any poems this summer, haven't made any submissions, and haven't started writing the article that I was asked to write back in May. So, hopefully I will be able to steal a few hours for writing before school starts. Hopefully. Speaking of...maybe blogging isn't the best use of my time. Huh.
The sky was falling over Indiana the day I picked up my keys. That night, they cancelled the Cubs game because of tornado warnings and torrential rain. Boyfriend & I waited out the storm in the pink-lighted Nick's Uptown, the closest bar to my new place.
Many thanks to ZS for the table-top inspiration. Boyfriend wants to remain annonymous, although most of my faithful readers are also facebook friends (or real life friends) and know who he is anyhow.
Me: tired, frizzy-haired, trying to play the role of detached urbanite.
And the studio. It's pretty spacey now that I have everything (almost everything) put away, but I'm still having trouble getting used to sleeping five feet away from my front door.
Here's the alley my balcony looks out on. Not much of a view, but I feel a little like a character from West Side Story when I'm out there.
Last but not least, something Akron definitely doesn't have: authentic Italian food (even cannoli!) delivered right to your front door! This is the Pasta Romantica, minus the shitake mushrooms, from Fornello. (I don't have a kitchen table yet, so for the time being, I'm eating at my desk.)
