Perhaps one in a hundred or so will get the title of this post, but it's okay. Many thanks to H for reminding me that I once had so much fun with poetry.
It's weird when things actually work out. I'm not used to it. I'm used to bizarre!crazy!weird! things happening at bizarre!crazy!weird! times, used to disappointment and heartbreak, used to being just close enough but not quite there. So I'm kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop. I've accepted a job that's very well-placed, prestigious enough to impress the right people and impressive enough for a certain company president to make sure that I connect with their federal representation, pays decently well and has killer benefits.
So why am I nervous? Aside from the the whole I-have-one-month-to-relocate thing? Because nothing every works out smoothly. There's no such thing as a fairytale ending, no perfect triumph-over-adversity story, no truly happy endings. It's just the way the world works.
In the meantime, I'm saying goodbye to my city. Today was Clayton. Tomorrow, maybe the rest of the Frick (today was a free admission to Clayton day, so the Frick was packed). Thursday will be the Carnegie. I plan a whirlwind tour in the next four weeks: the zoo, the aviary, the history center, the Warhol (to see cousin Andy), the inclines, Westmoreland Museum of American Art, Fallingwater, the Nationality Rooms, Point State Park-- basically, visiting most of my favorite places between packing. Phipps, too, of course-- but I've been a member that drops by monthly (at least), so it's more of a personal thing. Early on a weekday morning, with the place virtually to myself... it's really rather lonely and lovely. Which is probably why I feel so comfortable there.
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