I started the Crappy Menial Job yesterday, but today am at home a wheezing, coughing mess (I called my sister at 7:30 this morning to tell her I had a "ninja star stuck in my throat"). I suspect that I can blame my current state on the miracle that was getting sick not once in my eight-or-so weeks of hard-core time zone, season and climate displacement. So, on one hand, thank you body for not getting sick while I was travelling! On the other hand, bleh, I'm sick now and it sucks.
Working nine hours of menial retail crap is just the inspiration I need, apparently, to get my resume in shiny, perfect order- see Ali come home from her first day of work to spend the next four hours resume-writing! I am determined that my resume is going to be just the most fabulously impressive thing around, and it is going to get me quick-smart out of Christmas retail hell.
Coming home has been all the good and wierd and complicated I had anticipated. It's fun being back in my life, only without all the unending angst my life entailed this time last year. To hang out at the Slox having a trashy old time without once feeling overwhelmed by the too-many-years of too-much-drama! The Phoenix, shiny and new again, same filthy vibe (thank deities they didn't chuck out the dentist's chair). King St on its relentless march to gentrification, my favourite op-shop gone but the posters, graffiti, hot feral girls still there. Sexy women who made me quake in my shoes last year- still sexy, but the shyness is less crippling or gone altogether.
Then again, of course there's drama. Can't move in such vivid, passionate groups & scenes without expecting drama, I suppose. It's the necessary toll for this joy I feel at being lifted up by the years worth of knowledge and history of each other. But at least for now, my optimism far outweighs my fear of old drama, and so far that's enough to conquer it.
I have 'visitation rights' to my stuff being stored in various houses around. I'm astounded at the volume of clothes, which I shouldn't be since I own them all, and must have worn them once, but oh my goodness who in the world needs seventy four tank tops, not including strapless, halter-neck or open-backed? I guess I've been more of a frugal femme while travelling (what is the point of acquiring so much only to leave it behind?) so this excess is unfamiliar. My collection of cocktail dresses. Ballgowns on a separate rack. Costume pieces over here (showgirl skirts, wings, Queen of Hearts gown, tutus, hotpants and legwarmers). So many mini-skirts (absent from my San Francisco wardrobe, since it never warms up enough there). My summer frocks! My swing-skirt tutu dress! My endless pairs of black high heels!
Especially unfamiliar since so much of that wardrobe was acquired through bargain-hunting, op-shopping, trading, and learning how to alter clothes. Somehow I'd forgotten that sort of resourcefulness, that an endless wardrobe does not require an endless budget. It's fun to learn it all again. I'm excited about the prospect of a room, space for it all, to get familiar once again.