I've now spent about two months living on the east coast–two months that were very different than the previous two hundred seventy-three months that I spent on the west coast. I like to think I adapted well, but I did have housing provided to me for the first six weeks, so it wasn't that hard.
But anyway, something I've noticed is that everybody honks. If the first car in line at a stoplight doesn't move 0.25 seconds after the light turns green, at least one person is going to honk. And I hate honking.
I seek out parks much more than I did in Oregon. The green, open space is a bit harder to come by over here, but even when I do find it, it's discomforting to see buildings lurking behind the trees, as if to say, I'll let you have this space, environment, but know I could squash your natural ass any day of the week.
Biking sucks over here. I bought this sexy Schwinn that, according to Craigslist Paul, was built in Chicago before Schwinn packed up shop for China. The thing flies, and whipping past parked cars and ones in motion in the concrete jungle has been one of the most exhilarating things I've done with clothes on. I've found exactly one street with a bike lane, and that only lasted about a mile. So most of the time I'm in the car lane, pounding on the pedals so as to not piss off the cars behind me because if I do, I know they'll honk. And I hate honking.
Also, the streets suck, splintered with cracks and in some places entire chunks of asphalt mysteriously missing. That makes biking hard. I've popped two tires in the span of a damn week. Each time I was more than a mile from home, so wheeling my lamed Schwinn back is the ultimate walk of shame.
I miss my family and other people I love. The last few days in Oregon were especially hard. Watching my Momma's face contort into despairing sobs broke my heart. Saying goodbye to my Dah at the airport was equally hard. After I got through security, I glanced back to see if he was still there. He was, waiting by the wall where I'd left him. We waved goodbye to each other approximately twenty-five times as I gathered my things, put on my shoes, and finally found a way to walk down the corridor.
And I can't forget my seester. She cried at my graduation, which was probably the sweetest thing she's ever done for me.
There are many more people I miss, but I don't want to keep writing about this.
But anyway, something I've noticed is that everybody honks. If the first car in line at a stoplight doesn't move 0.25 seconds after the light turns green, at least one person is going to honk. And I hate honking.
I seek out parks much more than I did in Oregon. The green, open space is a bit harder to come by over here, but even when I do find it, it's discomforting to see buildings lurking behind the trees, as if to say, I'll let you have this space, environment, but know I could squash your natural ass any day of the week.
Biking sucks over here. I bought this sexy Schwinn that, according to Craigslist Paul, was built in Chicago before Schwinn packed up shop for China. The thing flies, and whipping past parked cars and ones in motion in the concrete jungle has been one of the most exhilarating things I've done with clothes on. I've found exactly one street with a bike lane, and that only lasted about a mile. So most of the time I'm in the car lane, pounding on the pedals so as to not piss off the cars behind me because if I do, I know they'll honk. And I hate honking.
Also, the streets suck, splintered with cracks and in some places entire chunks of asphalt mysteriously missing. That makes biking hard. I've popped two tires in the span of a damn week. Each time I was more than a mile from home, so wheeling my lamed Schwinn back is the ultimate walk of shame.
I miss my family and other people I love. The last few days in Oregon were especially hard. Watching my Momma's face contort into despairing sobs broke my heart. Saying goodbye to my Dah at the airport was equally hard. After I got through security, I glanced back to see if he was still there. He was, waiting by the wall where I'd left him. We waved goodbye to each other approximately twenty-five times as I gathered my things, put on my shoes, and finally found a way to walk down the corridor.
And I can't forget my seester. She cried at my graduation, which was probably the sweetest thing she's ever done for me.
There are many more people I miss, but I don't want to keep writing about this.
I saw my classroom for the first time. The ceiling is being repaired, so a sign on my door said, DO NOT ENTER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. I spent about thirty minutes in my room. It's a large space with whiteboards covering the walls, a Smart Board, and a ceiling high enough to play a little ball with my students. Just kidding. There's a basketball court not thirty feet down the hall from my room, so we'll play in there. I imagine we'll spend twenty percent of our time together in that gym. I know it's not a lot, but I gotta take this teaching thing seriously.
I miss writing like a bigorexic kid misses dumbbells, which is probably why this blog is going in so many different directions. Sorry about that, but I like to write even when I don't feel like I have anything to write about. Stop reading at any time, I just need the page view.
Only kidding.
I miss writing like a bigorexic kid misses dumbbells, which is probably why this blog is going in so many different directions. Sorry about that, but I like to write even when I don't feel like I have anything to write about. Stop reading at any time, I just need the page view.
Only kidding.