Skip to content

the eighty-ninth key

…to a body beauty and to a soul wisdom and to an action virtue and to speech truth, but their opposites are unbefitting.

A long time has passed since I last posted here, but a new chapter begs for proper attempts at documentation. What is most noticeable to me currently is this: I have made the novice “packing in an absolute rush of idiocy” mistake of forgetting to bring socks.

Much more of consequence has happened in the last week than that alone: I have begun the underestimatedly arduous task of moving one’s self thousands of miles, searched for days upon days with the support of my loving parents to find an available and non-toxic flat, grappled with many emotions the likes of which are unfamiliar upon recognising that I am soon to have residency in beautiful college town Evanston, IL-where I know no one, I signed my first lease, repacked and moved all of the painstakingly prepared luggage from home into boxes, moved the boxes into a storage unit underneath my future apartment to wait until my lease begins, arranged for renter’s insurance, spent time exploring Chicago with aforementioned wonderful parents, said goodbye as they headed to the airport (comforting myself with the fact that they will be coming to visit in less than two months’ time), and packed a backpack and a shoulderbag with clothes to take to a friend’s house in Libertyville while I wait for my apartment- clothes, yes, but socks, no.

So, in the logic of rationing my one pair of slightly-dirty socks for another day, I wandered through the quaint streets of Libertyville sans socks in my Vans. I should clarify, since all my shoes are Vans, that I was wearing these:

they look even better (read: worse) on. – Worth noting: the back of these bad boys is held together with my own DIY shoe cobbling of medical tape.

After walking to a cute old drugstore which had nothing in it that I needed, noting what days 2.50 cheeseburger-with-a-drink-purchase and $500-jackpot-community-bingo nights were (Tuesday and Wednesday, respectively), and searching for a gas station to buy a pint of milk (where I passed out in their bathroom of heat stroke, but that’s another story…), my feet were hurting more than a bit. Coming back to Chris’s and unsticking them from my feet revealed a little row of toe-knuckle blisters and a big red shiner on my left heel.

Through the unmitigated chaos of the last week, I’ve felt more raw than ever. Distance between my best friends and me means little to no communication, not as an insult to any of our abilities to stay in touch, but rather as a reflection of my shortcomings as a person who best relates with just sharing physical space with someone. Going through the wreckage of finding a rentable, desirable, and affordable apartment in Evanston (pick two!) with my parents helped me reach a new level of friendship with them (which I hope is somewhat mutual)- making it even harder for me to not follow them home. Having long, late night chats with my best friend and significant other (how lucky to say both things of one person in a lifetime) in which we realize that a long distance relationship is not presently reasonable for us is heart breaking, even when mutual and rational. Amidst uninvited tears and unwelcome insomnia, I’ve clung to the old AA adage: “A Day at a Time”.

Just as blisters wear off old skin and make it that much harder to endure new growth, a physical transition of 2,000 miles and an emotional transition out of many comfort zones of familiarity has worn me out in many sensitive spots. I have always associated this trying to make it through each individual day as progress concept with 12-Step philosophy, but never truly taken time to inspect the word “recovery” in itself. To cover something again is to take it from a state of vulnerability and provide new shelter, new safety, and even new surroundings.

It is in this spirit that I suppose I keep on. As a caveat, almost every piece of music I own (which as you should know is a stupidly large amount) has been pushing my emotions a little more than I can handle, although music is typically my only surefire outlet when I’m in a hard time. However, I have found a couple pieces that treat me kindly by digging through some of my favorite classical pieces while looking to make a mixtape for a new friend. Here is a link to Antonin Dvorak’s 8th Symphony in G, mvt IV, a piece I have fond memories of playing in high school:

Any music recommendations and/or advice with making a long move is well appreciated.


Tags: , , , , ,

%d bloggers like this: