Last day of work, and it was pretty overwhelming. One, for having to get everything wrapped up, no loose ends, and two, for the response everyone had to my departure. Usually a going away merits a departmental lunch, but mine included people from across the agency. And we went to Shogun, which is not particularly my favorite place to get sushi in the world, but considering all my co-workers used to wrinkle their nose at anything I brought in for my lunch, I thought it was a sweet gesture.

And a big basket of presents, some lovely and some well-intentioned. Somewhere in the middle of all of this--and then later my exit interview--it occurred to me that these people really liked me.

It's odd to be in a position like that. Does that sound strange? I guess I'm not used to people showing me that they like me. People are more effusive in the south.

I think I've been the obstinate, difficult sibling my whole life so I expect that people are always going to react to me in comparison to my sweet, personable sister. I guess it's pretty childish to still fall into that pattern of behavior. So maybe it was a pretty stupid realization to discover that I'm nice and sweet on my own, as an individual. But still, it was pretty cool.

I haven't really processed how I feel about work yet. I left no holds barred during my exit interview, and I left feeling slightly sick. Even though I feel like HR needs to know what's going on in my department, to actually say it all outloud feels like tattling, or gossiping. No matter how frustrated or upset I can get, to complain always makes me feel like a lesser, despicable person. And for the past two months, I've had a daily countdown, and then suddenly it's here, and over, and I emerged from the day with a throbbing headache and my body was racing like I had downed several shots of espresso.

I don't know. I feel like things are all rushed right now with ending work and getting the apartment packed up, and arranging things in Chicago so I'm not going to have the time to contemplate on my feelings about the job, and leaving it. Which means I'll probably never resolve the conflicting emotions I have/had about it. But I guess that's really the way most things go in life. One thing ends, another begins, and you're always moving forward.

Reason #1 why the south is better than Chicago

We went to a baseball game tonight. It was raining when we arrived, so the crowd huddled under the awnings to wait it out. Tim pointed out a girl with particularly nice calves. By the time the rain cleared and we found our seats, we discovered she was sitting next to us. Tim offered her his shirt to dry off her seat and she said, "Thanks . . . hey! You're a Shakespeare actor! I just saw your show!" and she introduced him (and me) to her family, and for the rest of the game, they talked about the theatre and exercise (she was a new massage therapist for a spa/gym in town). Her name was Chrystal, as most girls in Alabama under the age of 24 are named. She was at the game because of one of Tim's co-stars, who called up the baseball stadium and offered her voice for the national anthem.

The stadium gave a shout-out to all the actors, and one of Tim's classmates won a customized baseball in a raffle. I caught a hotdog from the hotdog cannon. I kept looking around, expecting to see people I knew.

As fun as Wrigley Field is, nothing like this would ever happen there. I like this small town.

Indulgent weekend

The weekend was perfection. It started out with happy hour afterwork with Sally and Fran at an outdoor restaurant. They are always so busy that it was a real treat to get to hang out. The weather was perfect and so was the company. Afternoon bled into evening, then suddenly it was late and not a good idea to drive myself home.

Saturday I lounged around until the afternoon when Meghan could drive me back to my car. We went to a nearby cafe and had iced coffees and chatted. It was the first time I've ever felt completely comfortable hanging out just us (I usually think of her as Tim's friend first). Then we went next door to a boutique that also fosters cats and petted the friendly ones weaving in and out of the jewelry and antique displays. Then I drove home, stopping by Publix on the way. I sat in the car for a little while before shopping because there was a really good radio program about Johnny Cash on. Inside Publix, pesto-parmesan ham was on sale, an old dude commented on one of my tattooes and told me to get some of the free samples of Easter food, and I saw a very scary 7-foot-tall Easter bunny.

Once home, I had a long conversation with Hannah, who may be coming to visit! Yay! And dinner with Tim. After he went back to work, I lounged around more, watched embarrassing TV shows that I had out from NetFlix, and made carrot-ginger cupcakes from the most amazing cupcake blog I've ever read. (YUM.) After the show, we went to a party with his castmates. Riotous, late-night fun.

Sunday, we made waffles with mangos and strawberry yogurt, and watched some "Battlestar Galactica," which really bugs the crap out of me. In the afternoon, I shopped for dinner, then played a scorching game of tennis with some of Tim's classmates. Dinner was grilled chicken, jasmine rice salad, and a new, intriguing salad containing dried apricots, figs, capers, feta, mint, kalamata olives, toasted pine nuts, and jalepenos, with a vinegrette. Dessert was leftover cupcakes. Afterwards, we laid around on the floor, reading trashy magazines, and talking.

The whole weekend felt like an indulgent escape. I suppose I never have that much to do on the weekends here anyway, but this one felt so free and lazy. The only thing that would have made it more perfect would have been if our pool was already open so I could have done some lounging poolside.

It totally recharged me.

Home is where the heart is

Or the Tim, I guess.

I was thinking about living here recently. Maybe it was running into Sally in the grocery store, which made things feel small-town and homey.

I watched the news last night, which reported this new development in a cool section of town. The city razed a rundown block and is planning to build restaurants, outdoor cafes, boutiques, etc, in its place. And a downtown alley near the baseball stadium is being considered as a touristy spot for fountains, trees, and cafes and bars. I got excited--then I realized I wouldn't be here to see it.

They broadcast the opening game of baseball on NBC Thursday, and I watched some of it, to see if I recognized anyone in the stands.

When did this become home? I'm going to miss it. I had no idea I'd fall so hard for a small city (and one so filled with suburban nightmares like strip malls).

This makes me think, maybe I can live anywhere, as long as I have Tim. He makes things bearable, but it occurs to me that what I have here, I created myself. I wake up next to him, and he makes me breakfast, but when I go out in the world, I'm doing it by myself.

In the theatre, I'm his wife. But everywhere else, I'm just me. And it's dawning on me just how much I'm capable of.

Random Thursday

My sister is coming tomorrow, and I'm dying from excitement, but somehow I'm having a hard time rousing myself to actually clean the apartment.

Work was near-hellish today, but that's almost how I prefer things. It was my turn on the crisis line from 12 to 4:30, and I worked the crisis line from 12 to 4:30. Some days it doesn't ring once, and I have time to work on other things, but today it was nonstop. I got calls while I was on calls. So when I get to work tomorrow, I think my client load will have doubled. We haven't been at full capacity in about six months. It will be nice to be busier--hopefully I won't be online as much.

It was full-moon crazy today. Which, according to the calendar in my office, was one day late, but driving home in the dark tonight, I saw a big peach of a full moon sitting on the horizon. Yesterday's moon was a big silver dollar, and tonight was twice as big. I always wonder how the moon makes such a drastic change in one day, for it slips in and out of its phases so quietly that I lose track of it.

Googling the phases of the moon yielded a Daily Moon Phases module for websites. I might put one here.

In Publix tonight, I was standing in front of the strawberries tonight (16 oz. for 99 cents. 99 cents!!) when a woman walked up. She was tentative about strawberries, so I extolled the virtues of the current cheap--and highly delicious--berries. We talked for a minute or two, then I continued on with my shopping. Her cart was blocking mine a little bit, and she said, "Can you get by, baby girl?" It was seriously the cutest thing I'd ever heard. I don't think anyone has ever called me baby girl before, and here was a stranger saying it in a darling southern drawl. I couldn't stop beaming for the rest of shopping, thinking about how much I love the friendliness of Southerners. I am going to miss feeling so comfortable striking up conversations with folks in grocery stores. What I remember about shopping in Chicago was always being pissed off about how crowded the grocery stores were.

Music at home

Last night Fran invited me to an event one of her classmates was putting on. She didn't know many details, so I didn't know what to expect. It was a musical review (revue?) that had been picked up by Broadway recently, a play written by a local singer-songwriter based on Lee Smith's Fair and Tender Ladies.

We walked into her classmate Joe's tall, Colonial home, into a big living room stripped bare of furniture, filled with people watching a man on bass and a woman on guitar, singing. They did a few songs, then other people picked up instruments and moved into what I think was the dining room, filled with amps and microphones. A tiny boy dressed in a flaming cowboy shirt, snakeskin boots, and a black ten-gallon that fell to his nose swaggered out, carrying a guitar that covered most of his body. He was 7, and a Hank Williams impersonator. It was really the most precious thing I've ever seen. His singing was, well, you know, he's seven. But I was blown away by how his teeny fingers hopped from chord to chord with ease--he didn't even have to look! (Sometimes I have to look.)

The crowd was mostly grandparents and middle-aged folks when we arrived, but as the night went on, a younger crowd started showing up, and it was clear by the time we left that an afterparty was brewing in the backyard. Joe's friends seemed like the type I would enjoy. He seemed to be about my age, very personable and good looking, goateed, with a poplin fedora, thick silver ring on his pinky, and trendy pointy black shoes like I'm always trying to interest Tim in.

Fran and I mostly stuck to watching the music, and talking to Joe whenever his rounds would place him in our vicinity. He introduced us to his friends once, and they seemed really cool, but we weren't feeling that social. It was fun for me just to get to hang out with her. The music was easy to sit back and listen to. I haven't been able to hang out and listen to live country or folk in a long time.

Towards the end of the evening, Joe played a few songs. One of them, "Valentine," stuck in my head like a burr in cotton. I knew it front to back, but couldn't remember from where. I asked, and he said, "Old 97s." Of course. I started talking about music, and as soon as the words "alt-country" left my mouth, I could feel the light go on inside me, and I knew if things were different, in my old life, that would have been the moment when the evening changed, and lengthened, the water in my hand would have become a beer, then another, and the crowd would thin, then disappear, and eventually, I'd tiptoe out the next morning in the bright sunlight with a phone number in the back pocket of my jeans.

Musicans get me every time.

In a much more wholesome way, the night reminded me of being a kid and going to the Music Emporium for concerts. It was a dusty music store that would open its storage space in the back on weekends for shows. It started out small, a potluck dinner, people sitting on boxes or bringing their own lawn chairs. The kids would run around in the front where the instruments were, and try to count all the frog trinkets and figurines (plus the lazy cat named Frog who slept in plush guitar cases) that the owners collected. I once spent a concert sketching the guitar player bent over playing. I remember the folds of his workshirt and the smooth, reckless curve of the instrument were my favorite parts to draw. My parents pushed me up afterwards to present him with the picture. I was probably eight or ten.

The evening made me think of how I want my home to be someday, filled with laughing people with a beer in one hand and an instrument in the other. I want to host evenings like this, in our spacious home somewhere--preferrably in the middle of the country with a wide porch and a living room big enough for dancing. I want to draw creative people to me with temptations of my cooking, and Tim's love of playing music.

It was a really wonderful evening.