This is not my beautiful house , this is not my beautiful wife....

Tuesday. My first real day of work.I narrowly escaped thirteen accidents on the NJ Parkway and 280, two hours in traffic and lands in Newark, and starts her new job, new life. Here we go again. Everyone is super wonderful, they really can't do enough for me. The benefits are great, they went beyond my expectations for salary, training is spectacular, and they will pay for my licensing. All is well, walking around the city, taking in the sites on my way to get my drug test (that's right...) and knowing, I can make this work. I can do this. I can do this work again. My new life, settling in. Having a Mary Tyler Moore moment with my scarf walking out of the prestigious state building, "I'm gonna make it afteralllllllllllllllllllllllllll!!!!"

Cut to XT checking her voice mail three seconds later" Hello, this is Sonya from Cornell University... we want to fly you to Ithaca for the Therapist job here, please call me back". This btw is my DREAM job, world renound cutting edge health center, the new college health care model in a very cozy progressive community at the Berkeley of the Ivy league schools. Shit. I just hung up my pictures on my wall in my bedroom. I finally changed my address form, making friends, dating, decorating, making my home here. I lost it. Crying hysterically under the full moon on my way home. I don't know why. I think it's because I am a tree living a birds life, ya know? Also, good tears, feeling like (and always have) this feels like a destiny thing, you know? There is so much going on. Ultimately I feel so grateful. Lots of opportunities. Meanwhile, I am surrounded by loved ones who are having doors closing, trying to be supportive of them. Part of me wants to just settle in, but I want to make sure it's the right thing. This to me means I feel it in my bones, ya know.

Cut to Thursday. Me sitting in traffic for two hours trying to get on the 280, praying that my gas tank won't be on empty while my bladder certainly is not. Praying for the traffic to move. Deep breathing, "everyone will merge, work together, keep moving". Dead stop, staring at all of the ugly industry around me, the bitter working slags on the way to their drab jobs. I am one of them now. What I swore I wouldn't do. I have been spoiled walking ten minutes to work for the past four years, through Alamo Square park, one of the most beautiful views in the world. Doing work I feel good about, with integrity. So no, not feeling the Newark thing in my bones. More of a buck up solider mentality. I am weird there. They make fun of me for eating salad and sitting with my legs crossed. Bringin my own coffee cup n shit. Reusing my plastic fork. They notice everything. Call me "crazysanfrancisco". They are tight Newark girls waiting for something to nab the white girl about. They have no idea who they are dealing with. Although I think they are starting to get it. One of them had pictures of a painted naked critical mass party, which is for us SFins just another friday in the city. The thing you could literally walk by and go "oh, neat" and keep on walking. For them the pictures were like someone had parted the Harlem River. Hrrmph.

My point:
as D and G say:
you make plans, and God laughs.