(NOTE: These first NorthCarolinaLand posts were written long before they were published. I approximated the dates so that the timeline flows. Dave got the job, and we’ve started the moving process. Woot.)
This whole growing business.
Dave just came to the library to deliver some news. It’s news we’ve been waiting for since we realized his company was less of a God-send and more of a Soul Suck.
We are closer now than we ever have been to Dave having a real, honest to blog, grown-up job.
It means more security. It means more growth opportunities. It means more respect. And who am I kidding, it means more freaking money. It means less stress for my poor sweet husband.
It also means moving. Far, FAR away, Donkey. FAR, far…away, to Mythical NorthCarolinaLand.
I’m really REALLY excited. I’m fucking terrified.
I’m (almost) 28 years old, and have spent THE ENTIRETY of those years on the Gulf Coast, the “Dirty Third” if you will. I’ve never lived anywhere that wasn’t sweltering for 87.12% of the year. I’m excited to live somewhere with four real, not obligatorily stated on the calendar but left unfelt in the air seasons. We’ll be living three hours, THREE GORGEOUS TOTALLY DOABLE ZOMFGDAYTRIP hours from DC. I love DC. We’ll be within spitting distance of an ocean not muddied by the Mississippi River and dead dinosaurs. With clear water. and sandy beaches. And clear water. And WHITE SANDY BEACHES. I’ll be a half hour drive from a master’s degree that’s not stinky, sucky, dumb ol’ LSU. I’ll live in a town with an REI. I love me some BassPro, don’t get me wrong, but it’s no REI.
Then again, REI isn’t the Pack and Paddle either. And I doubt they have crawfish in NorthCarolinaLand. And if they do, I doubt people out there know how to cook it. Also, shrimp poboys. Poboys of any kind really. And nobody knows what “cher” means. I mean really means, not just the gay icon pop singing superstar. And nobody speaks French. Also, our families live here… ish. My mom and dad are in Houston, Dave’s parents live in Jackson, but the ENTIRE REST OF OUR FAMILIES live in The Swamps of Louisiana. And let’s not forget our friends. I don’t want to make all new friends. I’m not very good at it. Read: terrible. I like our friends.
It means moving, like the physical act of packing up All.Our.Shit. and hauling it across five states. It means finding a place to live. It means finding a place to live that won’t mind that we have four pets. Will we be in an apartment again? With Finn and Oliver who have never lived in an apartment, or even been on the second floor of a building, and don’t really know how to walk on a leash? Yeah, I know, hug disservice there. Daisy is WELL suited to apartment living, I have no worries, and Dinah has been an indoor cat for all but the first four weeks of her life. But Finn, he’s a big boy, a big sweet boy, and I just don’t know how well he’ll adjust to an apartment. To be fair, the apartment won’t be forever. So maybe it will just be an adjustment period for all of us, full of really long walks. I’m going to need a new pair of shoes.
I’m going to have to find a new job. A new job that can equal this one in awesome and in hourly pay scale, because while I only work part time, I make bank doing it. Also, almost all of my friends are here. And I really love my job.
All that said, this is the absolute best thing for our family. It really is. It’s a bonafide career for Dave. It’s a chance at a not so cult-like school for me. It’s good. It’s healthy. That doesn’t mean it’s easy. that doesn’t mean it won’t be work. But it will be worth it.