One year later and $36,000 in mortgage payments poorer. Today’s the anniversary of my purchase of a little California bungalow that I am slowly but surely learning to call home.
I love my little house, and I love the flowers and trees that grow year-round. I mean, it’s November, and the oranges are growing on my tree — citrus in the winter in my own backyard.
Actually, I’ve been in California now for 18 months, but today is a sort of anniversary of permanence, of making a decision to actually make a home here instead of just existing here. And this is much more difficult than I expected.
For instance, while I enjoy working for myself and do a pretty good job at it, I really miss leaving the house and going to an office where there are actually other human beings to talk to. I’ve looked around for the right job, but it hasn’t materialized yet — this has turned out to be rather demoralizing. I can’t help but think that perhaps I’d have better luck if I simply looked for a job instead of hunting down the right place. I mean, I don’t need to go out there and find a job, it’s not a crisis or anything. Because of that, I’ve been treating my job hunt as a search for the perfect workplace and the perfect type of work. Still haven’t found that.
But then there’s that pesky “get out of the house, be around real people again” thing. So to that end, I’ve accepted a position graciously offered and will start work on Monday as an “Intent Analyst” at a Silicon Valley tech firm. I went by Thursday for a meeting, and instantly felt like I was on the moon: since I haven’t worked in an office since I came here, I know nothing about Silicon Valley culture, and now I’m going to be thrown into it. It makes me feel old.
On top of this is my cardiac checkup. I’ve slipped back, folks. September and October were difficult months, I’ve been feeling bored and alone and depressed, which translates to eat more and don’t exercise and have a few of those Snickers bars in the Halloween candy bowl. This adds up to higher cholesterol numbers from this week’s test; as well as a gain of 4 pounds in the last month. This morning is my appointment with the cardiologist, and what with the blood test Wednesday and all, I feel like I’m being judged and tested. I’m scared that when I go in, I’ll be yelled at for not taking better care of myself. And frankly, after taking a handful of pills every day, I feel like I shouldn’t have to make such a huge effort. Really, what’s the point of the pills if I can’t be sloppy and lazy while taking them?
Maybe all this depression is from the gray and chilly weather lately. I should move somewhere where it’s sunny even more than 300 days of the year. Those 65 days are obviously my downfall.