I realize I dove into this blog without really explaining anything about myself or how I found myself in such a holding pattern. I currently live in rural Georgia and sometimes wonder, how did I get here? Like that Talking Heads song, I sometimes think, this is not my house. But the cottage really is not my house. I’m squatting, along with The Professor, in a borrowed holiday home, on a lake, down two dirt roads, surrounded by trucks and semi-wild dogs, and turkey shoots. Seriously, I still don’t understand turkey shoots.
So how did I get here? It wasn’t watching the days go by, it was more a whirlwind romance, followed by a long-distance relationship, followed by moving to England, followed by the lack of a plan, no money, a wedding, and semi-settling into the non-permanent state of living in which we currently find ourselves.
After college, when everyone else was finding themselves unemployed, searching for jobs, unsure, and generally right where I’m finding myself now, I was going to graduate school and preparing for a career in the museum field, hence The Defunct Curator. A year into my degree program I met The Professor in a way that only he and I could have met, smack dab in the middle of bad timing for us both. But that’s a whole other story. After we met, it took about two days for us to fall in love, two weeks for us to decide to be together, and two months for us to see each other again. Eventually we decided on the long-distance thing for a year. During this time he decided to travel to England for his Masters program, and I decided another year apart was not so much going to work for me, and I packed my bags.
With our return to America getting closer everyday, I started applying for jobs a few months out. I had some great interviews and was a finalist for two positions, but no cigar. Upon our return to the States we had about three weeks before our wedding, every moment of which was spent preparing, organizing, making programs, tying ribbons, and experiencing multiple bridal showers and homecomings. When The Professor got a granted position at the University we came to the cottage, with the plan of me becoming employed, moving, with him eventually joining me. But it’s now been three months, and twenty applications later I’m still unemployed, still spending my time baking and not working, and still going stir crazy. Thus my holding pattern. Until the job thing is sorted, no plans can really be made, no trips organized, no escape.
I like to observe, to people-watch, to spot similarities and differences. As a New Yorker living in the South I’ve been provided with a window into a different world, one on which I hope to comment. Moving into the cottage has proven as full of antidotes as it is filled with The Professor’s family’s bits and pieces, including an elephant figurine collection that would shame Dumbo himself. While moving in I leaned into the closet and bumped my head on something, which turned out to be a rifle. Later in the week I found the bullets in the bread basket. It never ceases to be odd living amongst the things of other people, like being a piece of furniture, one more thing shoved into an already filled lake house.
What else about me? I’m neurotic, but I like to think socially-acceptably neurotic or at least I hide it well. I like to travel, I like to live in other countries, and I’m currently going through reverse culture shock. I have pets and they help keep me entertained during the long days. I like to read, love history, and appreciate a by-gone era while still maintaining an optimistic feminism (meaning I really think one day we’ll reach full equality.) My girlfriends live in the North and I miss our adventures together. I can get judgey and critical and try to keep that in check. I am crafty and I like to cook and bake. I also like to wear red lipstick, vintage styles, and bows in my hair.