Part I. Flight.
In early May I was searching for jobs online, as I often did when I had time. Today I'll find something, maybe today I'll find a new firm, or a job opening.
And I did. I found a job posting for a three-month internship in Portland. By chance I had the day off, and spent the rest of the day modifying my resume and portfolio, and putting together references. By the next day the application was in the mail.
I was hopeful, very hopeful. Not because I desperately needed the money, or because I was bored. In fact, I was just getting into the swing of my life in California. I had made many new friends and was out and about flying kites and biking and climbing. Mostly I was hopeful because this was my dream job. Somehow this job managed to include every aspect of my education and some of my pastimes into one position: it was biology and botany and Spanish, it was landscape architecture and planning, it was biking.
I was out with Theo flying kites in the park when I got a phone call from the firm. I didn't answer. I was having too good of a day, and wasn't ready for the rejection that become so commonplace in my life in the prior 8 months. I waited for a voice message. I had an interview.
After many phone calls, several trips to the coffee shop to change my then current work schedule, and a couple panic moments, I confirmed my interview time. I denied the offer of a phone interview in favor of meeting them in person. I wanted to see how their office was run, I wanted to meet the people I would be working with, I wanted to represent myself as well as I could. My parents paid to fly me there. I got the job.
When I received my offer letter I jumped out of my chair with excitement. A chance to get my foot in the door! at a firm that does exactly what I went to school for! In a town I had been planning on moving to since my second year of graduate school. After a few days of pure excitement and planning, my mood was stabilized by the bitter fact that I would now be leaving everything that I had worked for in the past 8 months. I would be leaving my new friends, I would be leaving my flexible schedule, I would be leaving the sun and the vineyards and the endless road bike routes. And though only in a geographic sense, I would be leaving my love. We both knew that I had to go, I wanted to go. So I packed. Within 3 weeks of applying for the job, I was out the door.
Part II.
green
I had been mentally preparing myself for being new, for not being good at my job. I had mentally prepared for leaving California, I said my goodbyes and my will see you soons. And the first week went well. I was too busy to stop and think about where I was, who I was, what I wanted to be doing in my free time. Each day I improved, each day felt more comfortable. Each day I had something else after work I needed to get done, and each morning I woke excited to go to work.
I have now finished week 2 of my 3-month job. I have now completed 1/6 of my summer training on how to work in the REAL WORLD. I know it will take much much longer than that, but for now, 3 months is a start. Two weeks is a start.
The motivation to write comes mostly from my feelings of dislocation. Up until a couple days ago, I was too busy to have noticed my mental state. I had to find a grocery store to buy food, I found a climbing gym to join, I had work to be at, and outfits to pick out and AutoCAD to learn.
Part III. Void.
Then I got a migraine. My head pounded ever so gradually harder and harder. Vice grips on my temples, ice picks of pain through the right half of my head. The music coming out of stores, a child's scream of delight, joyful conversations on the street were translated into deafening sounds that made me nauseous. I took some medicine. My head still pounded. I took some more. The dull overcast light of the afternoon was blinding. I laid down and tried to sleep. My jaw was stiff and my mind was racing. Thoughts of work and money and meetings and deadlines poisoned my head. And finally, I slept. I had intended to merely nap, but I slept away the evening, not waking when Jenn came home. My phone woke me at 9:52 pm. I didn't answer. I was disoriented. I remembered I had left the door open. I went to lock it up. Jenn's light was on. No one was home. Had someone come into the house while I slept? I tried to call Jenn. No one answered. I closed and locked the door and crawled back into my bed. By that time I was no longer sleepy so I read well into the night, got up past midnight and showered, and read some more.
This morning I ignored my alarm three times. I rolled over and decided to give my brain and body a break. I pedaled to work a few minutes late and tried to focus. All morning I fought with myself to get something done, be creative, design something. It was useless. I left early.
I can't tell if my mental state right now is due to my transition to Portland, or to the dreaded and sometimes tragically comical migraine hangover. But a feeling of nothingness has settled in around me today that won't seem to shake. My head feels numb. My body doesn't feel like mine. My eyes won't focus. My brain is hibernating.
