Hello again, journal. No, don't back away. You remember me, right? You could you forget the drivel with which I once prodigiously lined your pages ... Right, you don't
technically have pages … but you're picking up what I'm throwing down.
Let me fill you in on what's been going on.
Right now, my apartment is an unholy mess as I condense my life into modular, stackable cubes. Yes, I'm moving. In five days.
Clean and neat, before the move.
Jacked up. It's much, much worse now.There is good news. For one, I'm not moving far:
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The front of the building.
The building's entrance is to the left; the subway's elevated tracks, where the Red Line enters the Beacon Hill tunnel after crossing the Charles River, is visible at the end of the block.And, second, the apartment is great: two bedrooms at the flat of Beacon Hill; a century-old building with good closet space and exposed brick walls; around the corner from bustling Charles Street and dozens of restaurants, bakeries, and shops; across the street from the Charles/MGH subway stop. And the rent is only $100 more than I'm paying now. Considering all the other two-bedroom units on I saw were shoebox-sized, fifth-floor walkups that were at least $2,200 a month, I'm happy with the deal I got.
I'm not happy about moving, though. I don't have a car (solution: Zip
Car Truck). I'm here by myself (solution: my brother Andrew is coming to help me move/visit. Yes, he's that awesome.) I live on a tiny, one-way street that makes moving a hellish experience (solution: there is none).
Oh, and I have to move Saturday night after work, around 9 p.m. Don't ask.
Whatev. On the bright side, if Andrew and I hurry and finish moving my stuff, we'll have more time to hang out and see Boston. It's not like I have too much stuff, anyway; I've divested myself from quite a bit in anticipation of JENN'S ARRIVAL.
Before June is out, we'll be a whole family again: Jenn, Robert, Abbey, Travis. That which I've daydreamed about for a year — summer picnics on the Common, strolls down Newbury Street, lazy evenings on the Esplanade, getting lost in the North End — is about to come to fruition. I don't need to explain how excited I am.
And then, the hitchin'. Everything is ready, save for small details. We've lit the fuses of the fireworks show; now we just wait for them to burn down. Then it's off to Mexico, and then back to Boston … and the rest of our lives.
The job has been going quite well, and I'm quite proud of the work that I've been doing. You can see some of it
here. And starting tomorrow, I'm on a new schedule, too: 1 to 9 p.m. If I keep this up, I'll have daytime hours before too long. Man, that would be great.
Lastly, my boss, the design director, asked me if I'd be interested in going to the Society of News Design's annual conference in
Las Vegas from Sept. 7-9. Uh, yeah? Sure, it's more traveling in the most travel-heavy year of my life, but there's no way I'm going to pass up that opportunity. ... You know, to play blackjack on the company dime. I meant ... I meant to say "to learn from the industry's shining stars and pioneers." Or something like that.
So, journal, that's the scoop for now. I hope our next meeting isn't three months from now.
