the wanting comes in waves

Fabulous weekend in D.C. Seeing Hill, John and Eigh Ann (I only use the Oxford comma to distinguish separate pairs in a list), three of my very dearest friends, and the three people to whom I speak the most often, brought so much relaxation, joy and happiness that I didn't want to come back. (Evil Queen Hillori strikes again. I asked her, as we drove through Old Town in Alexandria and the beauty of the architecture and the coming-alive young greenness of the gardens and trees elicited almost pained exclamations from my chest, "You're trying to get me to move here, aren't you?" Without even a trace of chagrin she said, "Yep!" John asked, "Is it working?" and I said, "Yes...")

A good part of me longs for some city life while I'm still single. D.C. is lovely and boasts so much to do. We visited an Asian market sporting an auditorium of staring fish and an excellent Korean cafe, walked around Old Town looking at the pier and the shops, and stuck our heads in every grocery store within a five mile radius (I count myself lucky to have a childhood best friend whose idea of a grand old time is looking at expensive food). The coffee shops and bars and restaurants, the people walking to and fro, the brick sidewalks, the history, the loveliness, the sleepy old charm...

Yes, I want to live there.

So, since my plan is to go to grad school for my Next Step to Wherever (I still have no idea where I'm supposed to wind up, but I know grad school is the starting point, so I'm taking a miniature Kierkegaardian leap of faith), I have as my rough sketch for the next few years application to programs within or around D.C. for the fall of 2010, and a relocation to that fair city. In the meantime I will live with the 'rents and pay off my debt.

It has been wonderful to return to Erie, to make my peace with old ghosts and old demons, to "bury my ballast" and learn to live free. But the familiar restlessness is surging up within my soul, those waters that never lie still, and I know I won't stay. I used to think of myself as a person who craved stability and security, and as far as my relationships are concerned that remains entirely true; but I hate staying in one place too long. I realized awhile ago that the reason I have refused to buy a house all these years, the reason I have taken these minimum-wage jobs for which I am entirely overqualified and which usually bore me, is that I don't want to be tied down. While I'm sorting out where I'm supposed to go and what the ultimate goal is supposed to be, I want to "keep my exits wide." At any moment's notice I could pull up stakes and leave, and that knowledge is always massively comforting to me.

And this time when I leave my birthplace I won't be running away; I'll simply be leaving, and taking myself away whole. I like that knowledge too.

Since I took yesterday off for the long drive back, today is my Monday and I'm grouchy and prone to irritability. Intense emotions good and bad always give me a headache, and my back dislikes eight hour car trips. It doesn't help my mood that I have taxes to anticipate tonight; that I'm hollow-eyed with exhaustion from my wonderful visit; and that I'm back in the land of perpetual February with not a green thing to be seen but the deadness of last year's grass. (I really didn't want to come back.) I keep up regularly by telephone with my deepest friends; but actually seeing them and being able to touch them illuminated the vast difference between telephone and real presence. Also they're the majority of the few people with whom I can share company in easy silence, which is better ignored on the telephone (and which I ignore because I hardly ever get my fill of that easy silence with anyone here, and the reminder is painful to my introverted heart). I miss them more today than I did on Thursday. (I really didn't want to come back.)

The Decemberists' new album, The Hazards of Love, is simply amazing, and also the perfect mood piece for the melancholy bittersweet mood which stole upon me yesterday as I left the city.