After years of living the Portlandia lifestyle in a somewhat begrudging manner (no, I do NOT own skinny jeans, and I cannot fathom embracing veganism--even a little bit), I decided to pack up my shit and move to Lexington, Kentucky.
Really, most of this decision had been based on two qualifying factors: 1. I had been working full-time, going to school part-time and nursing my seemingly chronically ill animals back to health on and off again for upwards of 3 years now, and 2. My aunt had generously offered to let me move into the upstairs of her new home, thus providing financial security and a break from the daily grind of "just getting by."
So, I threw my shit into a portable storage unit, shipped it off to my aunt's front door, and threw my 2 cats, 2 dogs, cousin, myself and several suitcases into the back of my Hyundai Accent Hatchback, and started my sixth move in the past three years.
Oh, the dreams I had of the open road! I had traveled cross country once before, but this time we were taking historic Route 66 for much of our trip, and that excited me considerably. California windmills! Sunshine! Quaint mom-and-pop shops! Tacky little roadside attractions with even tackier little souvenirs to remember them by! Diners and people and countryside in the heart of America itself! Even the crappy little dingy truck stop restrooms with fully-stocked condom machines and near-empty hand soap dispensers!
Unfortunately, when you have to travel 3,000 miles in 3 1/2 days, pretty much the only one of these wonders you get to truly experience is the bathrooms. Condom dispensers lose their flash after a while, no matter how many different colors/ribbing styles they offer. By the end of the trip, my dogs looked beyond spiritually beaten, I had the rumpled, unsavory look of a perpetual trucker, and my cats had taken to flipping their litterbox upside down and shitting in their kennel (read: cell of relentless captivity). Even the stray dog at the gas station rejected my attempts at a good deed: he stole my bag of Beggin' Strips after 10 minutes of luring him close enough to put a leash on him and take him to the local animal shelter. We got the treats back, but I still don't think my dogs ever really forgave me.
I started out this trip with a light, bittersweet heart and a day dream about to come true, and I finished it bitter and smelling of cat piss. But, finally, it's over. My stuff is halfway unpacked, my furniture is moved in, and I hopefully won't have to move again for another 12 billion years--give or take. C'est la vie!
No comments:
Post a Comment