In which I feel utterly fantastic, now that I’m doing something.

When I got home from work yesterday Bghead was on the porch with his laptop saying, “I just read your blog! We’re going to lose you?!” When I told Truck and Bowling Jesus that I’d decided to move to Washington, Truck said, “Good. I’m not surprised. It sucks for me, though.” When we were playing cards last night, Baby Girl said, “I’m happy for you, but I hate you. Now I’m going to have to be friends with some bimbo or something.”

My desire to move west has morphed overnight into a burning need to leave. I want out. Pronto. I’ve developed a sudden and wicked case of I Hate Fairfield Syndrome: the weather disgusts me, the bugs annoy me, it’s boring, and it’s ugly. The whole state is run down, flat, empty, and looks poor. Driving the jeep earlier today I realized that the only time Iowa really charms me is when the weather is acting like it would somewhere else.

I’ll miss my friends, of course, but the details of Iowa living have suddenly become things I desperately need a break from. I want good food, good coffee, clothes that I didn’t buy at Walmart, and the option of hanging out outdoors for more than three months out of the year without suffering from exposure. I want access to jazz instead of nothing but classic fucking rock. It’s totally backwards here, in the inbred redneck sense of the word, and aren’t I actually somewhat hipper than this? At least a little?

I can always come back when I re-remember that people in “the real world” are actually shallow, venial, soulless automatons with whom it is nearly impossible to form real, meaningful relationships. There may be nothing to do here, but the folks in this town are deep, bitches, and no doubt about it. Even our sloppy drunken rampages revolve around personal growth and deep communication. It’s awesome.

But I’ve had a surfeit of it. I’m so ready for some natural beauty! Mountains. Water that isn’t stagnant. Air that smells clean! PINE FORESTS. OCEAN. I’m about to give myself apoplexy just thinking about being somewhere else. I suddenly loathe humidity, and the summer storms this year aren’t charming – they’re just pissing me off.

In other news, my mom invited me to stop at her place in Wyoming on my way through. (She and her husband moved there a few years ago from Portland.) Then she said, “Get this far and you will be in good hands, and before the winter is over you could even get walls in the area you would be living in downstairs. Besides, {your step dad} mentioned last evening that if you got this far you could probably get a job here as they are always, and I mean always looking for computer people.”

The woman is trying to get me to move to Wyoming! WYOMING! What the hell kind of mom would do that to a daughter?

Since I’m totally into the letting the Universe decide, though, I’m going to apply for one of those jobs. And if I get it, I’ll live in Wyoming for awhile. In my mother’s basement. That’ll teach her. Heh.

In which I’ve made a decision.

House hunting has not gone well. I don’t think there’s a single 4- or 5-bedroom house for rent in the entire county, and even if there is it won’t be in the right school district.

I’ve received no follow-up offer from my ex-employer, and none of the other local jobs I’ve applied for in the past couple of months have gotten me even so much as a nibble. In fact, the only interest I’ve gotten in the past six months has been from out-of-town jobs.

Yesterday I secretly decided that I would move to Washington state at the end of September, if only I can somehow afford to get there.

Within an hour of making this tentative decision, my boss offered me more work. Right out of the blue. There was no effort on my part at all – he and I were chatting and he said he’d give me more hours if I needed them. I’ve asked for more hours before and never got them and suddenly, there they are.

So, there’s my sign, folks. I know spontaneous fucking support when I see it.

Grandma’s already offered me a spare room; all I’d need would be enough money for a tune-up and gas and motels for the three-day drive out there. Once I arrived, she’d probably feed me for a couple of weeks while I got myself employed at some trendy bistro or at the local ISP or something. Hell, I could start a computer business on the side by simply printing up some posters and business cards, ’cause it’s not like I’m not totally fucking qualified to install NIC cards and remove spyware and set up wireless LANs.

Walla Walla is another small town, true, but I love it and it’s only four hours from Portland so I could go spend weekends at my brother’s for excitement. It’s a college town. The coffee is way better. The weather is awesome. After I saved some money I could easily move back to Portland, if I wanted to.

I’d see aunts and uncles and cousins more frequently. (Sure, they’ll all insist on calling me ‘Shelly,’ but whatever. Family is always a trial.) I have the feeling I’d have more of a bug up my ass about being an actual productive member of society while living with a woman who was still bowling league, volunteering at the museum, and taking underwater aerobics into her late 70’s.

It feels good. I like it. I’m gonna do it.

Update: Now my mom’s gone and said she’d lend me a credit card to use for travel! I’ve been struggling here, but now that I’ve decided to leave I’m getting all the help I could possibly want. Wow.

Just… wow.

Next week I’ll pay off the loan I took to fix the jeep. The week after that I’ll give notice at work, and get the rest of my shit from the farm. The week after that I’ll go to grandma’s birthday – the plane ticket my aunt bought me is non-refundable so I might as well use it. The week after that I’ll come back, get the jeep tuned, and load up what little I will have decided to keep, and… leave.

I’ll probably spend a lazy week or so at my mom’s in Wyoming, and arrive back in Walla Walla on or very near my birthday, which I will choose to view as auspicious. I’ll job hunt, and live in my favorite house in the whole wide world as Halloween draws near, and watch the leaves change. I’ll be ‘home’ for the holidays.

Maybe Grandma and I will even make cranberry cordial together, like we did years ago.

In which things appear to be taking off but maybe it’s just an illusion.

First off, I have to say I’ve just about had it with the fucking humidity. I am not at all enamored with being sticky and damp all the time! I do not enjoy damp sheets! GAH! It’s like living in a giant armpit.

I did six loads of laundry this weekend. (Go me.) I still have nothing to wear.

ShadowGrl and I drove all over town this weekend looking for a house to rent. They’re all for sale, not for rent. The papers list only 1- or 2-bedroom apartments. (We did pick up a hula hoop, a badminton set, and boxed Go game for free, though, so it wasn’t a total wash.)

After house hunting we returned to my place, where my housemates were vibing badly and ShadowGrl’s ex was hanging out, so every room I entered featured people having intense conversations that stopped abruptly. After being unable to find a safe place to sit and read, I announced I was going to the little bar. While I was there, the two people I spoke with were also distraught: one’s wife had left him ten days prior; the other had cheated on her boyfriend and was waiting to be dumped.

The entire evening was emotionally exhausting. Normally I’m good with that kind of stress, but with The Curse and all, I mostly just felt kicked in the chest because everyone I spoke with was in some kind of pain.

Monday I only worked for a couple of hours because The Curse had me feeling retarded. (At least it’s been pain-free so far this time. Bonus.) Monday night I hung out with Baby Girl so we could catch up on gossip; there’s a house across the street from her place that may be available to rent. Shadow and I will have to go see it this afternoon. It would be perfect, but it’s on the market so its rentability isn’t known.

My ex-employer has practically offered me a part-time job, but they’re arguing price like I’m asking for something impossible. They seem to be grumbling about paying me the rate I was making when I left, and they also want me to be a contractor… Companies are shifting the burden of bookkeeping off to their employees by calling them contractors when they’re not, and there’s no benefit to it. Sure, they don’t have to pay unemployment or offer insurance, but contractors charge more than employees do so it ends up being the same in the end.

Plus if you’re not really a contractor and you don’t have anything to write off, you end up paying a higher tax rate. Then there’s that damn Schedule C, which is a total pain in the arse. Having been a genuine contractor in the past, I know for a fact that I don’t want to be filing as a business next April.

So, as Vuboq has pointed out, perhaps the universe is giving me my answer: it’s time to bail. I mean, I have very nearly found a house, and I’ve very nearly found a second job, but both are iffy at best and I guess I need to really want to be here to be able to find the energy to make anything work out… And since my housemates have formally asked me to move out, I can’t do nothing like I usually do.

I’m entirely too Libra for this shit.