change

It's funny how life tricks you into thinking you're making radical changes when I'm pretty sure moss grows fat on all of us. Like, in the next two months I'm going to move out of this house. That's crazy. Seriously, it feels really weird that I'll actually live somewhere else. That I'll walk up another set of stairs and put my key in a different lock and set my bag on a different kitchen floor. Before any of that happens though I'll have to wade through the attic, knee deep in class notes, ugly clothes, gadgets and gizmos aplenty. And, here's where the moss grew. It's everything I've ever moved from a different house. The same way there are chickens in the backyard and I still have too many animals. It's like my inability to show up on time to anything, no matter how many punctual resolutions I make. It's my sporadic visitations to my mom and my growing guilt about not seeing the Belfair fam more. It's the laundry on my floor and the grey polo shirt my dad bought me in sixth grade that is still too big. It's how quickly the grass grows and how there are already green cherries on the tree and how the birds have already eaten them, greedy little bastards. It's time to get the dogs spring shots and time to worm the horses again. The details are like sand between stepping stones. But, I'm planning on making cottage cheese pancakes tomorrow morning. My dad made breakfast for us every morning he was home. And these awesome red pajamas still fit, a present from Grandma gone right. I still have no idea how to not make my hands look like a peasant's and I still don't care. I add a few boxes to the mix each year but even though the packaging changes the product is still the same. And, who am I kidding, I'm too cheap and distracted to even change the packaging? That should make this next move fine.

Summer '09

Two weeks until the official start of summer. But, Summer09 has been cranking for over a month now. Mostly it's been a lot of cheap beer. A lot of beer pong (or, more lately, water pong). A lot of nights crawling into bed late, dirty, covered in dry sweat. (I never said it was going to be a clean summer) So, that's good. I mean, the drinking and sweating and getting dirty. Except the almost getting choked to death at Golden Gardens by a WSU winger. THAT sucked. But, the rest, great. I do hope to expand my repertoire though. I am stoked to be playing rugby again. I mean, it's all muscle memory, right? It's like coming back home. I like playing with a different team, new people, new ideas on how to do things, new ways of cheering each other on. I like that. And I am warming up to 7s, even though I think it's going to be a little tough to dismantle some of the habits by the end of the summer. I am interested to see what it looks like next weekend when we actually play a game. Should be interesting. But, yesterday, getting out on the hike, that was the best. Seriously. It was what has been missing. There's something too perfect about only thinking about your next step, your next handhold, keeping balance while you're scrambling up a small mountain. And having buddies and dogs out there (really one and the same...) rounds it out. Getting to the mossy top of that ridge was the best part of my day. The clouds hip-huggers on that mountain across the way, riding low like a basement ceiling, making it feel like we were higher than we really were. The dogs were so satisfied, just like us. I could have done that all day long. I want to hike every chance I get this summer. I could drink a whole lot less if it meant getting up early to get out on trails. I think my body would probably appreciate that. I want to hike with my dogs, and my sister, and my friends and my dad (although he gets annoyed when I get out of view so it means taking a lot of breaks). So, I have to figure out the next hike for sure.

Meggie.

I have been putting off writing about this. When I went to my mom's yesterday it took me over an hour to walk over to the place they buried Megan. Seeing that huge spread of tore-up ground still didn't jar anything in me. It was like looking at a construction site before the rebar. I didn't know where her head was, if, maybe as I crouched there, I was really talking to her butt. I didn't know what to say. Like I hadn't known her these seventeen years. Like she hadn't done her best to raise me right, using every trick in her pony book to get me off her back and get herself back to the barn. So, I just said that I was proud to be a product of her schooling, sorry I hadn't been there for her in her old age the way she'd been there for me in my young years. And then I couldn't shut up. You saw me through divorced parents, twelve different addresses, third grade through my bachelor's degree, through wanting to be a professional rider, a vet, a cop, a teacher and then a firefighter. I've ran from you and chased after you. I've shared peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies with you, and you've stolen your fair share as well. I've risked life and limb riding you loose in the pasture and we won that red ribbon down in Chehalis that summer. You've thrown me into mud puddles, fences, jumps, and soft grass. You've tried to knock my head off by running under low-hanging cedar limbs and take my legs off my cutting it too close to the barn posts. You let me wear spurs and carry a crop and only bucked every once in a while. You stopped slamming on the brakes at fences and started jumping over them. Then you realized you could eat the hay bales we tried to jump. You put up with every friend I put on your back and sent galloping up the driveway. You were the trustiest steed in poker-stabber-stick. Well, maybe not trusty, unless trusty means I could count on you to always stop and start snacking when I least expected it. You scared the shit out of me when you got sick and ended up needed surgery to unclog your dang guts, just because you were an equine vacuum cleaner and couldn't let any tiny piece of grain escape you, along with all the dirt it was laying in. I still remember coloring in the waiting room in those early hours, coloring like a psychopath while I waited for the surgeon to come out and show me a handful of the sand that had almost killed you. And then two days later, belly full of staples holding you shut, you were pulling the vet techs like they were full of helium when you'd spy a patch of grass in the hospital parking lot. Your star got wild and huge on your face, like a supernova and you were so aggressive about getting your udders scratched, single-minded to the end. I wish I'd spent more time with you, even if it was just scratching you. I still couldn't keep my seat if I hopped on you, me twice what I used to weigh and you ten years older. You'd still take me for a ride and swerve dangerously close to Jewel, knowing she'd try to kick you, and probably knowing just how you'd maneuver so I was the one that took the hoof. You were pretty quiet but your knicker was my favorite. I'm sorry that my kids will never meet you and I can only hope that I'll be able to find them a teacher half as good as you were. I don't think there's every been a scrappier, tougher-than-nails, verocious creature out there. You were the one, Megs. You raised me right and I owe you my childhood. All my love. I hope the grass is delicious wherever you are.

May 30th.

Every once in a while I hit my limit of my current line of employment. Ask Molly. I’ll suddenly lose it and swear that I’m going to quit. And I never have the guts because I am paid well, treated like family, have great benefits, and would feel terrible pulling the rug out from under all these people who have looked out for me for the past four years. Also I verbally committed to three to five years and I only just passed my two-year mark. I always knew that a job offer from a fire department would mean I would break that commitment but I also imagined that I would have had one of those offers by now. I don’t know why I figured I would get an offer in the first year or so of testing, not that many people are that lucky or that good, but I just assumed it was destined to be so I didn’t imagine myself turning 26 and working at a desk for a large part of my job. Now I just feel like the openings are going to be few and far between and there will be even more people competing for them, a lot of awesome, over-qualified people. I mean, I’m going to keep the faith, but this trip is making me realize that I need to figure out something in the meantime. This trip doesn’t at all represent where I work. But, it just makes me think of what it’s going to be like to spend another summer outfitting people with athletic stuff when the sun is beating down its limited-time-only rays and I’m under-stimulated mentally and physically. I feel like such an ungrateful creepy for wanting out but it’s just not me. I mean, it never has been me but there are a lot of aspects about it that I can appreciate and I’ve been treated so well that it’s kept me working. But, I have a hard time working hard when my heart isn’t in something. I’ll work out of duty or because I’m worried I’ll get yelled at. But, most of what I’ve done in my whole life I’ve done because I’ve absolutely loved it. I rode horses because I loved it. I worked at barns as stable hands and grooms because I loved it. I went to college and studied relatively hard because I loved it. I played, and later coached, rugby because I loved it. I volunteered as a firefighter because I loved it. When I look back on my life and see what took up the bulk of my time, these are those things. And now, I have something taking up the bulk of my time and I don’t love it at all. At times I’m resentful of it and definitely have not put my all into it the way the job should be gotten at. And it’s a job a lot of people would be super proud to have. I feel like I’m hogging a spot that someone else would shine in. Like an imposter. An imposter with a salary and health insurance though so it makes it hard to just drop it like its hot in this down economy. And I’m not a princess that thinks that everything in life should be neat and fun and there should be no sacrifice. I haven’t loved every job I’ve ever had. But, I don’t have a mortgage or kids so I don’t have those outer responsibilities that might keep someone else at a job they don’t love. I’m in a part of my life where I only really have to answer to myself and I feel like I’m squandering it while I’m waiting for something I have limited control over. So, I e-mailed my advisor type person. She’s a firefighter who I met at Camp Blaze a six years ago and her advice means a lot. I asked her if she had any thoughts on what I could pursue while I was waiting to get hired, like what would look best on a resume. The way I see it, if I were to quit my current job, I have four options: get back into fire as a resident, probably at North; get re-certified as an EMT and work for private ambulance; get re-certified as an EMT and apply to paramedic school; or go back to community college for my fire science degree. I don’t know what weight each of those holds when applying to fire departments. I would ideally like to work for a large enough department that they plan on training you, in all regards, themselves, but I know the smaller departments value prior training and I can’t be picky on departments now. Going back to work as a resident would be both good and bad at the same time. I mean, I would love to just do the job again, even if it means not being paid for it. But, I wouldn’t be ale to hold any regular job to actually make money because the shifts aren’t on the same days week-to-week. I could work for myself or my mom and probably make enough to pay rent and buy groceries but there wouldn’t be a whole lot else leftover. But, it would allow me to maintain my EMT-cert and have my name out there for the smaller departments. Working for a private ambulance would mean a huge decrease in pay and being treated like shit at work. But, I’d be interested in the work and would maintain my EMT-cert. Going to medic school would mean I’m not only not making money, I’m paying a few thousand bucks to spend my time elsewhere. And it wouldn’t start until September ’10, if I were even accepted. That’s a long ways off and I would hope to have things sorted out by then. But, being a medic would mean my pool of competition would shrink a ton and I’d start at a higher pay grade. I would also be looked at as a nurse and having snuck my way into a fire department though the back door and that would piss me off until I could prove otherwise. I want to enter as a firefighter but I want to get my foot in the door no matter what. And, going to school for my fire science degree seems like it could look good and definitely refresh my memory, and I’m sure I’d learn new things too. But, I’m still paying money and time to go to school when I do have to bring home at least a little bit of bacon. So, it’s a dilemma. But, I’m going to ponder it for the next couple weeks. I know myself well enough to know what this is though and it’s one of those times in my life when the tides turn. I have ‘em every couple of years and this one has been way overdue. I gotta git after what I want because no one else is going to do it for me.

May 29th.

I bet something that’s weird about me is that I like/love zydeco, swamp pop, creole, Cajun, whatever you want to call it. Like, smack a fiddle and an accordion together and someone wailing in American French and it makes my heart soar like an eagle. I want to get tickets to the Port Townsend Fiddle Tunes again this year on whatever day the Cajun bands are going to be there. I would totally plan an accordion. It would be an exercise in the strength of my friendships. Also, I am finally tired at an appropriate time. Like, I’ve been getting tired mid-day lately. And I’ve also had these insane neck/headaches. I’ve sort of had them popping up over the past couple weeks. But they’ve been more intense on this trip and I’m not sure if it’s the sun (like eye strain?) or boredom or lack of good exercise or what. But, it kills and I haven’t had neck problems for a while now and suddenly they are back, along with a headache. Shitty.

May 28th.

Eff it is hot as balls in this hotel room. It’s midnight. I am exhausted but this heat is like starring in a high school musical wearing a wool sweater. I am also a touch done with luxury. I can’t hang with these peeps. It’s ungrateful and I apologize to my karma but I’m not cut out for business. I think when it comes down to it I’m too simple for this sort of thing, and not in a good way probably. I just don’t get it. I don’t care. And I’m pretty sure something just darted behind my curtains. Like a creature of the dessert that probably came in during one of the many hours I’ve left my door open. I hope it stays on the floor while I sleep. If I sleep. This damn heat is over exuberant and a little too persistent. But, like I was saying about this convention. I really appreciate all the trouble that the company went through to put us up in this really nice hotel and to feed us way too many calories all day long. And to take us to the ballgame etc. But, by day two (today), I am toast. Like, I can’t talk shop this long, or really at all. I have the utmost respect for my company. I think it’s probably one of the best-run businesses that exists, anywhere. And I am grateful for my job, especially in this climate. Yet I’m still unexcited for anything beyond my day-to-day duties of unpacking boxes, putting shoes on the shelves, and then putting them on peoples’ feet. That’s the end of it for me. I don’t have a greater vision or greater intention beyond that. And, really, I’d rather be putting out fires and getting cats out of trees. Or, I thought on this trip, it might be fun to teach PE. Like, teachers are getting laid of left and right and I doubt that PE is a field that has many openings in the best of time seeing as how kids aren’t even required to do it half the time. So, that’s a pipe dream for sure. And I’d still WAY rather be a firefighter. But, I think PE teacher would be a second. How gay is that? I mean, right? I mean, why fight the stereotypes when they are so true. We definitely had that PE teacher in my high school. Also the basketball coach. And she was dating one of the science teachers. I think. But, it would be fun to teach kids how to play games all day long and maybe get the awkward girls to unfold their arms and maybe enjoy one game every once in a while and to get the awful mean boys to stop trying to throw baseballs with enough force to kill someone and have an ounce of team spirit. I think middle school would be the place for me. The center of hell. The worst time of everyone’s life. It could be a good time. Just sayin’. And summers off would be saweet. But, I still want to be a firefighter. I’m too stubborn and single-minded to get past that any time soon. June will definitely be a time for more tests and a lot of studying for them this time. I love studying in the summer. I love my short attention span and being inside while it’s 75 and sunny out and then saying I’ll just study outside and then throwing the ball for the dog and then maybe weeding and then cleaning the chicken coop and then maybe mowing and weed whacking and possibly going to the beach or getting drunk or both. But, seriously, this trip makes me realize how important it is to me to not be in this position in the very near future. And I can’t keep saying that the way I sometimes say a lot of things for a long time but don’t actually do them. Like clean the attic. Or fold my laundry. Or get a haircut. Or wash my truck. Or clip Suzy’s nails. Becoming a firefighter, or at least not continuing in a job that I’m unfulfilled in, is more important than any and all of those things. To the hundredth power. So, another night where I write about the same thing. But, like I said, I’m pretty single-minded. I’d say I have about six or seven rotating thoughts that are passing through my mind at any given point in the day. Sort of like an animal, but maybe they only have three or four? I hope. So, it’s either rugby, or outside, or dogs, or chores, or firefighting, or working out, or people. That’s pretty much it. Those are the things I think about. And thusly the things I write about. Pretty endless. Darn it. It happens.

May 27th.

I am sitting outside my hotel room in Scottsdale. It’s pitch black and not even nine o’clock yet. But the weather is incredible. The air is thicker than at home but it was ninety degrees today so I guess that makes sense that that blanket would linger past dark. It’s the perfect temperature to sit outside in shorts and a t-shirt and forget that temperature even exists. I’m sitting here drinking tea and writing and it feels like something that I would try and set up at a different time but not be into the tea or the writing or the sitting. The fact that I can just be here right now is so good to me. And those are the times that I really feel life is all about. For as much as I plan what I really want are these times where its all right in front of you. Everything is satisfying. Like right now I really like the way it feels to type. Somehow that’s enough. I like the sound of the crickets and their different volumes. I like the really quiet country song coming out of my computer. I like this luke warm tea and how easy it is to drink. I like how tired I am right now and knowing that I am going to bed in just a few minutes. I know it’s not possible to maintain this immersion but I am thankful for the times I get it. Every corner of life has texture and some strange velocity that you hadn’t noticed before. It’s winter drapes and crushed ice and butterscotch pudding. I just wish I could see that more than I do. But, then I’ll try to make a point to ‘be in the moment’ and that’s just super douchy to do that. Next think you know you’re slacklining between trees at Green Lake and then running into the lake with all your clothes on, or maybe you’re totally naked. Because everything needs to be an Experience. Stupid. Everything is an experience. It’s just that a lot of the time we’re so worried about what’s on the horizon we forget to look at our feet and see that we’re somewhere beautiful or terrifying or somber. And we lose our ability to know up from down. I think that’s one of my biggest fears in life. I don’t want to be walled off from what’s happening. I think I’ve done that a considerable amount in my quarter century. I can really focus on what needs to happen in two hours or tomorrow or next month or ten years from now. Every once in a while I give myself a swift kick and realize it’s crazy to treat time like an octopus because you are not in control of those arms and there are way more than eight. Our neighborhood paper always did a section on graduating seniors, with a short profile on each one. It asked where you saw yourself in five years. In a rare moment of no foresight I said that five years ago I was 12 and I never would have expected to be where I was at 17. So I had no idea. And at 23 I was that different person my 17 year-old self wouldn’t recognize. So, why force it? I mean, I ask this question to myself. I am the biggest culprit out there.

I do have to get to sleep. My thoughts are definitely getting sandy. But, I am thankful for this Arizona night. There’s a note on my balcony door reminding me to close it so the dessert creatures don’t help themselves to my complimentary toiletries and take up residence in the second (yes there are two) bed in the room. But, I’m thinking the sound of crickets is not something I want to keep out. And, so what if I wake up with a lizard on my chest? The don’t have teeth. Do they?