The Chronicles of the Angry Geologist

It will never fail to show you. Fortunately, it wasn't me this time, but it made me think enough to get me out of my emo mood.

There's a co-worker of mine that I like a lot. She's bright, she works hard and efficiently, she talks like Barbara Walters and makes jokes about it, and she's absolutely fracking hilarious out in the field. She's one of my favorite people to work with, and to give work because she gets it done right.

But she's said some things that make me go "bwuh?" before. Back in March when the primary was in full swing, we were eating breakfast together and she had something to the effect of, "I don't think women should be President, don't you? I mean, we're just too emotional." This statement combined with the image less than 24 hours old of this little pixie manhandling a generator gave me sufficient cognitive dissonance do the "baroo?" face. She immediately apologized, but I still had to wonder...

Yesterday, I found out. I was out on another job with her up in Northern Pennsylvania. I hadn't seen her in a while- she's become the main field person for another job- but then all of a sudden she was back in the office for like two weeks straight. It turns out her husband had said something to her about her working so much- he feels like a bachelor. She panicked, and asked for more time in the office because she was afraid he was going to leave her.

I also found out that she was handling her (abusive?) father's finances. He's an alcoholic and has related health problems, and the poor judgement that often goes along with that. At the rate that he was spending and getting himself into debt, he was going to end up homeless and with no money for a funeral- it's that bad. As the only one of her siblings who still speaks to him and is responsible enough, she took on the job and put the bulk of his money into an account that he doesn't have access to. Every time he needs money, he calls and she transfers it. Apparently, she's been getting the guilt trip lately, because she can't talk for hours while she's at work, or listen to him complain about how he sent her sister a birthday card and never got a letter back. I have a good relationship with my dad, and I chewed him a new one when he called me at work for a non-emergency one time! And she just kind of sits there and takes it, and worries if she's being a good enough daughter.

After I found these things out, I watched her trying to fix the broken pump in a new light. The guy at Equipment and Supply (whose gross incompetence I already posted about in bad_service) shouldn't have even let that pump get on the truck without checking the clamps, yet she blamed herself when she put it down the well on the assumption that it was in working order without checking the clamps first.

I've had problems with self-confidence/self-esteem in the past, so there but for the Grace of God go I. I feel so bad for her, and I wish I could wave a magic wand and help her undo all the damage from all the crap that life has thrown at her. All I could remember thinking was "Get this girl a self-esteem transfusion, stat!"

So I saw my favorite role model movie series last night.

( Cut for Spoilage )

And I must get a fedora.

This one involves some geology, so the explanation is going to get a little long.

We're siting a well in Maryland, and one of our potential sites is in a park next to the MA & PA Heritage trail- actually very pretty down there. The whole thing was in a bit of a depression near a network of streams, and we agreed that this would probably be a good place to look for water.

Now, there is a geomorphological feature called a "kettle" in glacial terrain- it refers to a marshy depression.

I'll bet you can't guess what my boss said. No. Really. Try.

"Too bad we're not in glacial terrain- then we could call this the "Ma and Pa Kettle Site."

So, The Kid stopped by again today. I had just finished planting my garden and setting up the hummingbird feeder- something that I'm going to put out wherever I go as a way to remember Baba. It's a cheap plastic one, when I really would have preferred a glass one with fiddly bits to tie my eclectic porch together, but it's one she would have gotten.

So, I'm sitting there, Roland on the tie-out that's attached to my couch, enjoying my new porch garden. Besides the hummingbird feeder, it's got tiger lilies (another one from Baba), tomatoes, marigolds, impatiens, spinach, sweet red peppers, Kung Pao hot peppers (there's also an ornamental thai hot in my kitchen), basil, green onions, parsley, dill, morning glory, and this nice little poofy flower that I can't remember the name of right now. It's not alyssum, but it sort of looks like it. Anyway. That's when I saw The Kid. He had a scooter this time, not a bike, and he came careening across the parking lot on it to pet Roland. And he did- came over, asked questions about both Roland and the hummingbird feeder, and the garden- and then his friends came over. I saw his mom very briefly- she must be OK with The Kid coming over.

But man, three little boys all asking questions at once, and trying to pet the dog, and trying to see what's in your garden, it's all a little overwhelming. Even Roland got a little bit tired of it. By the end of it, both him and I were backed up against the porch door, surrounded by kids. I eventually got them to go home by telling them that Roland was tired, so that's good.

So... Angry Geologist as neighborhood babysitter. Yeah, I didn't see it coming either. Next time I'm in Indiana, I'll make more of an effort to stop at the outcrop of fossiliferous limestone and get them some brachiopods or horn coral.

There's a cute little neighbor kid that lives in my unit that always comes running up to talk to me and pet Roland. He's of a certain ethnicity, and his parents don't speak English as a first language, with all the difficulties for all parties involved. There's a couple of families of the same ethnic group that sort of hang out together, and sometimes I think he comes to talk to me for a change of pace because I'm different from his family, I have a dog, I always answer questions, and maybe because... well, I know how mean kids can be because you're different.

Today he must have really needed a chat, because he was waiting for me when I got out of my car. After we talked about Speed Racer for a minute, and I explained about the security badge I have to wear to work, I tried to excuse myself.

"Why?" he asked in that innocent way of kids.

"I have to get Roland and take him for a walk before it rains."

"Why?"

"So he doesn't get wet!"

"Why?"

"Because wet dog smells really bad!" I was officially Home Late at this point, and I didn't want to delay Roland's walk any longer so I waved and started walking home.

"Can I come to your home?"

...aaaand I stopped. Dead in my tracks. "Uh... well... where's your Mom and Dad?"

"My Dad works in Philadelphia. He takes the train to work. He's supposed to be home sometime this afternoon- what's afternoon?"

Damnit. "And your Mom?" I was really hoping someone was around to take care of The Kid...

"She's at my friend's home. Can I come to your home?"

"Well... uh... not now, but I'll tell you what, I'll bring Roland out to visit you, okay?"

"Okay!"

So I went inside and let Roland out of his crate. At that point I was going to change, but then I saw a little head at about the right height bobbing outside my big window. The Kid was waiting at my door. I promised myself that I would try hard not to get too dirty at the dog park tonight, grabbed Roland's leash and my keys, and walked out the door.

We walked along a little way, and he asked me what Roland was looking around for, and I tried to explain that he was a hunting dog, but he couldn't really hunt. Then he tried to get him to hunt one of the robins that was hopping around. Kid logic. There's more of it on the way. We reached the point where we can either turn around and walk around the complex or go to the dog park, and Roland made it very clear that dog park == WANT. And I told The Kid this.

"Why?"

"So he can go and play with the other dogs."

"Why?"

"Because it's fun!" In retrospect, this was probably not the right thing to say. I bet you can guess what the next words out of his mouth were.

"Can I come too?!?"

"Uh... you had better let your mom know where you're going!"

"Okay!" The Kid said as he ran back.

"I'll come with you!" I figured his mom wouldn't let him go running off with any strange lady, but if she did, then I'd at least know where to deposit him later. "Oh, tell her it's The Angry Geologist in Apartment Plural Zed 5!"

"I live in Thorn-92," The Kid said. "You can come and visit me, but if you come visit more than seven times, my mom will get mad!" Kid logic. Was I this cute when I was his age?

So I met Kid's mom. As I figured, English is definitely not her first language, and The Kid indeed does speak another language at home. At The Kid's insistence, she gave Roland a treat, which he took a little less than gently, because she was holding it so high above his nose. She scolded him a moment in the other language, and waved goodbye to me as she brought him in.

I tried to do the right thing here. I really hope she doesn't think I'm a bad person or going to do anything to her son. I'm wondering if I should try to catch her and explain myself, or maybe write a letter- or do you think she gets it already? I don't know- I've never had a kid follow me home before.

Dogs, cats, fish... add kids to one more thing I can't turn away from my door.

In case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm a pet person. I am always more "myself" when I own and care for some sort of animal. That's the way I am, I've accepted that, and so have my friends.

My parents, on the other hand... well, there's a reason why I put off telling them about Roland.

Case in point: yesterday, I was walking by a yard sale, and I found a 30 gallon fish tank and stand with all the accoutrement for $10. Yes- ten dollars. The stand needed a fresh coat of paint, but I mean... that's giving the damn thing away! It's all glass, very sturdy, the filter even has a built in foamer chamber! Of course, after I got a verbal assurance from my neighbor that everything worked, I paid her the ten dollars and picked up the thing right away.

The stand is mostly repainted. There's a few little things I would like to add, but those can be done later- besides, I need some balsa wood for that (and there will be pictures, so keep your pants on). Today, I added the gravel, the water, the Java Ferns from my old betta bowl (RIP Levi- sorry I didn't catch your swimbladder problem in time), doused it with stress-zyme, and started up the filter. I'm going to let it stabilize for a few days, and maybe start adding fish on Tuesday or Wednesday.

While I'm not an advanced fishkeeper yet, I am not a novice aquarist. To some extent, I know what I'm doing, and if I ever think I'm getting myself into trouble, you can bet I will spam the fora with my issues.

And, like most things in my adult life, my parents seem to think I'm going to be incompetent at this. My bettas have lived at least three years per fish, including the ones that were sick when I got them, and I was working under adverse conditions (very limited space). I didn't tell them about the saltwater tank I had in grad school, because I knew they'd run with this again, though when they saw it, they didn't seem to knock my roommate for taking poor care of "his" fish. The last time that they know that I had a fish tank was when I was a kid- there were two goldfish in a 10 gallon tank- okay, okay, I was a stupid pet owner, but in my defense I WAS EIGHT and I think that at a quarter century I can do a LITTLE FRACKING BETTER THIS TIME.

*huff*

It's okay, though. They've always been way too overprotective of me. I just have to wait them out, and prove to them and myself that I am a responsible adult. They'll come around. Eventually. I can be patient.

Besides, a school of neon tetras are going to look great under that blue light.

You will need:

One bottle of Bombay Sapphire Gin
One bottle of random store brand tonic
One lime

1.) Buy the gin at the liquor store. Get into a conversation about prospecting with the cashier about gold prospecting in Pennsylvania (?) after you tell her you're a geologist.

2) Buy the lime and the tonic at the grocery store.

3) Get home and start drinking immediately after you try to brush your dog's teeth.

4) Realize you have no tumblers, so mix it in a pint glass that you stole from your ex-roommate instead.

5) Pour in two fingers of gin. Cut an eighth of the lime and squeeze the juice in the glass. Pour enough tonic to fill it three quarters of the way.

6) Taste. Realize there is not enough gin. Pour more in.

7) Drink. Drink again. Drain the glass to all but about a finger left.

8) Wonder how this would taste with cranberries. Add one dried cranberry to the glass. Drink the remainder. Eat gin-soaked cranberry.

9) Wheeeeeeeee!

Just a quick update from the field:

I was down at the motorcycle plant today driving the giant diesel truck with the poly tank on a trailer. We're doing our very first sitewide groundwater sampling, and the boss needed me to fill in for a few days while the rest of the field personnel got back from wherever. I had just finished my last well for the day, and I was headed to the contractor lot. Now, the army reserve barracks is right across from it, and one of the soldiers was sitting on the stoop out front smoking.

He watched me pull that giant trailer into the contractor lot, whip right into a parking space, and kick open the door in my flannel shirt and well-weathered steel toed boots. Then he watched me climb down, look in the side mirror to apply lip gloss, fix my hair, and sit down with my new copy of Country Home.

I don't think I could have caused more chaos in that poor guy's brain unless I had slipped off my boots and pulled on a pair of high heels.

I finished two reports today. I should be able to send one out tomorrow, and get the other one into typing. It's really kind of cool. One of the sites is in Baltimore, and I think you can see the effect of sea level rise on the groundwater levels in the wells.

***

Dad had his knee replaced on Friday- he ended up only getting a partial instead of a full (which is kind of like saying you "only" had to have bypass surgery and not triple bypass). But he came home today, so I'm going to call them later and see how its going.

***

The check engine light in my car has come on. D: Probably nothing, but I'm getting it checked anyway. I need to meet one of the managers at the mechanic's- not only was he nice enough to tell me where he gets work done on his car, but he offered to give me a ride. Of course, if my car is really going to explode and it will take a few days to fix, I'm calling Enterprise. Not going to take advantage of someone's goodwill like that.

***

Remember the 1400 foot dry hole, and how the property owner called in a dowser to find another spot? Guess what he found? A 700 foot dry hole! Score one for real science! Of course, that means the last site we're trying is do-or-die. And they're drilling tomorrow. Freakin yay.

I just got off the phone with my parents, and somehow we got into a conversation about how other people's houses were decorated. I mentioned that I had seen one apartment where they had turned the dining area into a sort of library and breakfast nook, and I was debating getting some bookshelves. I need more book storage space, the little Ikea bookshelf isn't cutting it anymore.

"Don't go out and buy the most expensive thing," Mom said, always frugal. It's how she grew up. It's still really hard to convince her to do stuff for herself, and she feels guilty everytime she does. When she brought home her new sewing machine, she had this expression on her face like she had hit a homeless guy on the way home and had stuffed his body in the trunk.

"I was planning on buying secondhand, anyway. There's some nice antique stores around here, and I was looking for an excuse to go."

"Good- and don't pay too much, no matter what they tell you its made out of."

I laughed and reassured her that I wouldn't. "Hey, I won't even have to have it delivered- I can just wait until I'm out in the field, and I can use a company truck. Just zip over, load it up, drop it off, and have everything back to equipment and supply before you can say 'P-52's broke down again!'"

Dad said, "So you're driving the truck now, huh?"

I kind of puzzled over this; I'm the oldest child and the only girl, so there's two reasons for my parents to worry sick about me. I was their first try- my brother owes me big time for breaking them in. "Er- yeah. It's no big deal. It's just a pickup truck."

Dad laughed. "Sweetie, don't take this the wrong way, but you've really grown up! I can remember when you wouldn't drive the tractor, and you were scared of my pickup!" In my defense, my dad was usually unhappy when I mowed the lawn (none of the oak saplings in the eastern part survived that year), and he was usually growling at me when I was driving the truck (learner's permit, ahoy!), so I was kind of turned off by that. But yeah. I had gotten over it.

I laughed too. "Yeah, Dad, I guess I have."

Heh. I want a cookie and a star sticker.

I heard it before I saw it. This high pitched, pathetic mewing that came over and over again as I was walking Roland. He was the nose and I was the eyes and ears as we came closer to my apartment door. And there, pacing and rubbing against my neighbor's door was a small, beautiful grey cat.

Roland and I stood there for a minute, looking, waiting for the door to open and the family to take their pet back, but they never did. The animal was a little afraid of Roland, but that abated quickly when he allowed it to approach and sniff first.

There was really nothing I could do. I don't want a cat. I don't know the first darn thing about cats. I'm allergic to cats, even cute little grey ones. So we went inside, I took Roland off his leash, and was immediately slammed with a wave of soul-rending guilt.

How could you? my conscience demanded of me. How could you leave that cute little cat out there on a night like this? You know how cold and wet it is! Does he even have food? Or fresh water?

I'm not supposed to feed strays, I responded.

Tell that to the cat!

So, I tethered Roland in the house, and took a little dish of water out there. I reused the container that held the watery mess of shredded white cabbage that the take-out place had called coleslaw from this evening. The poor thing was still mewing by my neighbor's front door.

Because I am mildly crazy and I talk to animals as if they could reason, I said, "All right cat, I'm going to leave you some water for the evening. But I can't keep you. Just to get you through the night, all right?" I held the bowl down and let it sniff the fresh water before I set it down by the bush next to my door.

I am a sucker, you know that? Because no sooner did I set the bowl down did Krosp II (See Girl Genius) start weaving around my legs, still mewing like crazy. I stood on that doormat for a few minutes arguing.

"No kitty, I can't keep you!"

"Mew!"

"I'm allergic to cats!"

"Mew!"

"You must have an owner somewhere! Why can't you bug him!"

"Mew!"

"I have a dog!"

"Mew!"

I took advantage of a brief moment of distraction to dart inside and shut the door right away. Roland was sitting peaceably on the couch, probably wondering what was the big deal, and if it would translate into food. Krosp was mewing, louder and louder outside my door, reminding me slightly of the groaning of the shambling zombies approaching the building where the heroine is holed up.

I tried to think; who might have a cat around here? Krosp looked cared for, and didn't have that wild and hungry look I associate with ferals. In any case, if it was feral, it had no fear of humans or dogs, and at some point must have belonged to (owned?) both. The first image that my mind called up was that of T, my elderly neighbor who I knew had adopted several cats from a local rescue. I had just seen him outside, and believed he might have been still up. But since I didn't have a phone number, getting him would mean going outside, and going outside carried substantial risk of becoming Krosp's owner/servant. But if I didn't, there was a substantial risk that this poor cat would spend the night outside, cold, wet, and uncared for.

My conscience started glaring at me and tapping her foot. She can really be a bitch sometimes.

I relented; but I wasn't going to get fooled here. I got Roland and put him on his leash, intending to use him as a blocker to prevent Krosp from getting in the apartment. If he did that, it was going to be all over. Now, I had been trying to train him to not run out of the door like a crazy beagle, so that if he ever was out of control when the door was open, I'd at least have a few more seconds to grab him and prevent an escape. But since I've been having to keep reminding him that We Sit Before We Go Out, I figured that he'd try and bolt again, and that would block the door.

What a time for the training to stick.

While he was sitting patiently, waiting for me to say "Okay!" Krosp took advantage of the open door and darted into my apartment. And that's when I did something stupid.

I had no idea what Krosp's background is. For all I know, it could be a distemper-ridden SARS carrier with severe territorial aggression issues, but you don't think about that when your lizard-brain is reacting to a cat in your apartment that shouldn't be there. I grabbed it and picked it up before it got too far inside, and was pleasantly surprised to find my face still attached a few seconds later. I carried him back outside, intending to go all the way to Tom's apartment when I saw that all the lights were off.

I carried Krosp around my part of the complex, looking for potential distraught cat-owners wringing their hands in worry because their kitty had gotten out without its collar. No such luck. Krosp tried to wriggle out of my hands a few doors down, so I sat him down on the sidewalk and watched as he tried another door. That really high pitched sound? Yeah, that was my heart breaking.

I gave in. I put Roland back, and set out the lid to the container with a couple pieces of kibble in it next to the water dish. Then, I put a blanket out on the patio for the cat to curl up in, so it could stay warm and dry. Disappointed that the new cat did not mean Food, Roland went to sleep on the couch again.

I can not have a cat.

I can not have a cat.

My conscience will shut up any time now.

Damnit.

This came out of a (f-locked, sorry) conversation in pompe's journal. There was a science fiction writer named John C. Wright with a Livejournal who had said something about a religious point of view being superior to a secular point of view. Personally, I don't think a secular worldview is superior to a moderate or liberal religious point of view (fundies who want to impose their views on me, on the other hand, I would like to slap in a very painful place), nor the other way around. But I draw the line at using the phrase "they are after our children to kill them." Read the link*, people: I'm not making this schist up.

I felt it was very telling that he says that Ayn Rand is one of the more sane secularists. Pompe agreed; it was a marker of batshit insanity, and if there is one, there has to be more. So allow me to present to you:

( Lookie )
*Not responsible for brain cell death.

So... yeah...

I finally found a place to get milk in glass bottles- turns out, that shady-ass-looking grocery store on the corner sells organic rBST free milk from cows that eat what they were supposed to eat from a cooperative enterprise. With an insane deposit on the bottles. Who knew?

Big Project is going along well- I've finished most of my part, but something is screwy with someone elses, so I might have to pick up the slack. Whatever keeps the client happy. I want this to stay with us for a very long time, so I can do more cool surface water-groundwater interaction.

It is colder than a welldigger's ass on a windy hill. If you've never been out at a drilling site, rest assured that that is damn cold.

I've started some of the seeds for my garden! I think I'm just going to make it easy on myself, and get pepper and tomato plants that have already been started.

I had a massive headache and unfortunately missed trivia night. Maybe next time...

Oh... yeah... and I haven't told my parents about my dog yet...






Rollin says hi.

My dad wished my mom a Happy Thanksgiving before he went to work this morning.

The most unpleasant recurring dreams I've had lately have involved home invasion of some sort. Of which is really kind of variable- there was one I blogged about a few months back involving some people coming into my parents' house against my will to appraise it for sale. One particularly bad nightmare I had in grad school involved someone coming into the house and threatening to set it on fire (after which the batteries in the smoke alarm went bad, which made for me running out of my room screaming and a really interesting night for my housemate at the time). I even remember fighting off burglars in my dreams when I was a little kid.

I'm not going to try to understand why I have these dreams. I mean, I'd like to, but I'm not going to lose sleep over it, pun very much intended. I'd just like to tell you about the one I had last night where I won. Sort of.

It was a house that I've never really seen before, but the decor and odor reminded me a little of my late paternal grandmother's house. There were three strange men (there's usually three or five), and I was tied up. I don't know what they wanted, or why they were there, but they were debating on what to do with me. Somehow, I talked them into untying me while they did so. They then turned their backs to me, and I think I was going to attack them and try to take the house back, but the orangutan stopped me.

I know where he came from. I read way more Pratchett than is probably healthy, and I often call the little instinctive bit of me that lets me know when trouble's brewing and helps me read people and dogs my Mo- ("Ook!") -er, Ape Brain. He pointed to the screen door in the kitchen and gestured that I should get out of there while I still could. I did the Smart Monkey thing and listened. I woke up just as the door banged shut behind me.

I spent the next ten minutes trying to calm myself down and managed to convince myself that this means I'd won before I drifted back off to sleep where the dreams were either boring or relaxing enough to forget.

I just realized that the last six meals I ate were vegetarian. Two of them contained no animal products at all. I did not do this on purpose.

It started last night, when I was cooking some rice for stir fry and decided to try something different instead. I pulled a can of red beans off the shelf, and made some jerry-rigged red beans and rice. It filled me up for the evening, and I didn't really think about food until the next morning.

I rarely eat meat at breakfast, and when I do, it's usually in the context of eggs or a breakfast sandwich, so that wasn't a surprise. I had toaster waffles topped with the leftover syrup I smuggled out of The Cracker Barrel when The Dude Man came to visit for the weekend and we ate out. I also put some frozen blueberries on it, just for interest, and had a glass of milk.

Lunch was supposed to have meat- I was going to have a bowl of soup, but just when I was going to heat it up, my next-cube neighbor pokes her head over and asks if I wanted to go grab lunch. I realize that I'm not getting anywhere on my curve fitting, and that I wasn't really hungry for canned soup that will keep pretty much indefinitely anyway. We went to the pizza shop, and I ordered an Eggplant Parmesan sub sandwich that was the size and approximate weight of your average brick. I wasn't hungry again until just about a half hour ago, and even then I wanted to keep it light. Instead of cooking, I opened up a bag of salad, and set some aside for tomorrow.

And when I started sitting here and thinking about it, I realized that I had eaten a bowl of cereal for breakfast and two slices of cheese pizza for lunch (I said vegetarian, not healthy), and had therefore not eaten meat since Tuesday, when I had chicken soup and a hard salami sandwich for dinner.

( I swear this wasn't intentional! )

This more or less summarizes my interactions on the discipline end with the majority of my teachers.

Ozy and Millie

We always had a garden when I was growing up, so I've always associated growing your own vegetables as part of the whole adult responsibility thing.

Well, with my new adult job, my own adult apartment, my own adult dog (coming February 2008) and my (hopefully forthcoming) adult raise, I think it's time I had a garden. I've tried a few times to get something started, but now that I have a nice west-facing patio, I think I can make it work this time around. I bought one of those peat seed starter kits, and next on my list are some good containers, and of course, seeds.

I want some herbs, but since most of these don't need started, I'll plant them directly in the containers when the weather starts getting warmer. I'm going to grow cilantro, parsley, basil, peppermint, chives, and maybe dill- those are the ones I use most often. I want heirloom tomatoes, maybe a plant each of the plum or roma and the slicing tomato. I'll plant marigolds in the containers with those- they help keep the bugs off. Eggplant does well in containers as well, I think. And green and red peppers- I can't go without those. I like spinach and green onions, but they don't really do well when I try to start them before planting- I'll just put them directly in the container.

That leaves me with three more kinds of plants to consider that require starting. Broccoli? Squash? Bok choi? Parsnips? I really don't know- I like food, and this container garden is already going to take over my patio. So, only three more.

Well, Friends of the Internets, what should I grow?

A. List seven habits/quirks/facts about yourself.
B. Tag seven people to do the same.
C. Do not tag the person who tagged you or say that you tag "whoever wants to do it".


Hmm... let's see...

1) I don't like people touching my feet. If I let you touch my feet, that means I really trust you.
2) My iPod has become my most useful tool in the office in order to drown out the noise from Club Greenpoint, the four guys in cubes surrounding mine.
3) I like Club Greenpoint.
4) I'm very allergic to certain shorthair breeds of cats- longhair ones don't really seem to bother me as much.
5) I get on "food kicks", where I'll eat a certain meal several times a week for about a month, then get tired of it and rediscover it about a half a year later.
6) I like Chad Kroeger's voice. I can't tell you why.
7) There are so many places in the world I want to visit, I'd have to dedicate a book to listing them.

Okey dokey! Now it's your turn, __fantine, green_knight, isolani, hexidecima, and wordweaverlynn!

I have moved a very long way from home. This is not a bad thing.

Do you know how old I was when I realized that I didn't belong in my hometown? I was about eight or nine years old, sitting in my third grade classroom when the epiphany hit. I don't recall what was going on at the time, whether it was the bully-of-the-week (I think that was the one I later threw into a wall after he had pulled my chair out from under me- they never got physical after that), or some inane conversation, or hearing about the latest round of layoffs, or the teacher going over how to do fractions for the umpteenth time, but something clicked and I thought, "My God, I have to get out of here!" Unfortunately, in third grade, all you can do is throw yourself into school to keep your grades up and pray your dad gets transferred to Florida. And that's pretty much what I did- that moment and the ones like it that followed are probably the reason why I graduated co-valedictorian, rather than any difference in intelligence between me and my classmates. I was motivated by my perception that the only way I'd be successful, the only way I'd ever have a shot at being happy, was to get the hell out.

Nine years is a damn long time to know you're in the wrong place, and not be able to do anything about it.

I don't keep in touch with anyone from my hometown that isn't related to me. Sure, I have a Facebook page (that I'm not going to link here, but if you're dedicated enough you'll find it), and there's a good amount of people that I knew from high school, but I don't really talk to them. To me, they are just names and faces floating out there in cyberspace, and the only reason that I even know them was some freak accident of geography. Sad? Maybe to some, but not really to me. I found my tribe when I got to college and grad school, and as spread-out as we are now, I'm closer to them than I ever would have been to anyone had I stayed closer to home.

So what's the point of this? I'm going home for Christmas next Saturday after I walk at graduation. I'm happy to see my family again, but I'm really not thrilled to have to drive five hours to a place that I never wanted to be in the first place. The only place I care about going is my mom's kitchen.

Mom wishes I moved closer to home. While this spot isn't my first choice in terms of livability (that would have been the DC area), I think I'm happier in Harrisburg than if I had stayed home (which really wasn't an option considering the job market) or in one of the neighboring cities. Sometimes I wonder if I made the right decision, but since I've been thinking about it for well over a decade, it's not too hard to convince myself.