Trash Backlog

This is the building across from mine, but they are the same so you get the idea. I would be the second floor on the left, far left garage door. Pleasant enough if somewhat like an extended stay motel. Actually one of the ladies that helped me sign the lease made a comment to that effect. She had been asking what I did and the subject of my extensive travel came up. When she said "Ah, so you're used to hotel living" I didn't realize how much she meant this place too. Fun story: the first thing that same gal actually did when I told her what I did is marvel that we are still in business. "The Yellow Pages? Nooooobody uses those any more" she went on and on to this effect, hammering home the instability of my industry as I was signing on the dotted line. Finally I gently told her to clam up. The moving guys gave a counter opinion later, mentioning how much they used and advertised in them.

But anyway. What you really want to know is: how's the new place?

We'll play the Upgrade Game.

Space: Upgrade!

Its a lot bigger than the old digs. More storage, large closets. Plus the garage is nice and has a small room off that as well.

View: Downgrade.

They said it had a view of the woods. More like a glimpse around a corner if you crane your neck. Mostly I have view of cement and skateboarding, yelling children. The amazing sunset and beach are gone for sure. It's also noisy in a way I haven't adjusted to yet. I'm sure eventually it will be no problem, but right now I'm sleeping the distracted sleep of a hotel guest, awake at every disturbance and ill at ease despite the comfort.

Commute: Downgrade.

I'm coming around on this a little since I've found a back way to work, but the DFW traffic is brutal. And it's tough both ways. Even using the shortcut it takes 20 minutes to go a few miles.

Amenities: Even

Well, the truth here is that they really swerved me on the appliances. They said they were one thing and they just aren't. They are substantially older than what I was shown. And worse than my previous set. The fridge is smaller too. But it does have an ice maker. Ask better questions next time, kids. It bumps up a little because I've bought my own washer dryer and a new TV which are both upgrades. So, overall it's better, but I was a bit bladed by the switch.

One digression I do want to make is to talk about the trash. The deal is, they pick up your trash four days a week. But only during two-hour windows at night and only in their provided containers. Kids, those provided containers are about the size of a small kitchen waste basket.

On the whole, I think it's a good plan: in this heat I do not want any trash hanging out at all. But as I move in, I have a lot of trash so you have to do this constant trash shuffle to get it out. I've been using old shopping bags for trash, taking those out regularly, but the bulkier stuff is troublesome. Like styrofoam from packages and such. So I'm working on a trash backlog.

And that's pretty much been my life so far: work, waiting on moving and delivery people, trying to get adjusted and unpacked and working on my trash backlog.

Sixteen-Cent Solution

I made a bowl of ramen noodles for lunch today.

It was the first time I've had the frugal college staple meal in probably 20 years. I was kind of dubious about it right up until I poured the steaming broth into the bowl and the flood of sensory memories came back to me.

I remember eating ramen thickened with cream cheese and broccoli as a young man. I was just starting out after school and on the cusp of a love that would last a decade. It was an exciting, scrappy time and the soup seemed like a make-do masterpiece- a revelation of possibility. We could make something presentable and excellent out of the meager supplies we had.

Years before that I sat on the floor in the basement of the art department and ate ramen raw between classes. I'd break off chunks like it was some lame granola bar. The look of astonishment on my professor's face when she saw me doing it puzzled me. I'm just eating ramen here. Doesn't everyone do this? Leave me alone, I'm doing my thing.

It's the MSG-flavored broth that holds the memory. It tastes like soup you buy in those vending machines; the kind with poker games on the side of the cup and a fortune on the bottom. I remember drinking that soup waiting in the train station in Hartford joking around with my family. The vended soup always tasted more nourishing than it was. And that's the way the ramen felt today- deeply nourishing. Drinking the broth at the bottom brought a sweat to my temple and a deep sigh to my lips as I put the bowl down.

I guess I'm feeling the past closely since the move. Some past selves seem impossibly-distant. Like you have no connection to the story of that life. Thinking it was really you then seems odd and apocryphal. Other moments are close. Like you could step out the door and into that different person's life.

But you can't and distance is a liar in both directions. So I sipped the soup and thought about it and sighed.