Written about twelve hours ago

Well we’re here. We made it. I’m sitting on the floor, laptop resting on an ottoman, looking out my sixth floor window. We don’t have Internet (I’m typing this on Saturday morning, likely going to a coffee house or bookstore to work on my homework later today).* We slept on the floor, using whatever cushions and blankets we could find. Most of our possessions are still in the U-Haul, waiting for us to unload them today. The cats are fine (now, more on that later).

It’s not real to me yet. To either of us. The entire drive up, I kept feeling like I was going on vacation. That I was on my way to visit one of my Bay Area buddies. And now that’s me. I’m a Bay Area girl.

Nope, doesn’t feel real.

The apartment feels real. I’ve easily adjusted to it. It’s just the fact that the apartment lies in San Francisco that I haven’t fully grasped.

San Fran-bloody-cisco!




*Bookstore was rubbish, Leonard managed to connect me with his bluetooth.

Goodbye Orange County.

I don’t even have the time to write this blog, but writing keeps me sane. It’s what keeps me going when life is in chaos around me. True confession, I’m writing this in spurts. A minute or two here. Pack. Another few minutes. Pack. And so on.

Tonight is our last night in the apartment. Tomorrow night we’re staying at a friend’s house to get an early start. Tonight is it. We’re in the red. The danger zone. No messing around.

Did I mention how not ready to go we are?

Focus Maile.

The past few days have been loaded with goodbyes. My previous entry touched on my last day at the restaurant. But let me tell you friends, it was even more spectacular. I didn’t really doubt it, but I will be missed. The morning manager went out of her way to make the day special for me. There were hugs, and there was singing, and then there were the tequila shots.

Don’t worry, the shots came later. Hours after I walked out the door, shedding tears that were for my eyes only. Yes, I cried. When I walked away, alone, my last shift truly over. I met my work friends at another restaurant, where we spent hours together. We drank together, had conversations both brilliant and inane. They told me they loved me, and I held back the tears.

Damnit, I’m going to miss those guys. No restaurant will be the same without you.

Then last night we had a little going away thing. I was so tired. So, so, so tired.

But here’s the funny thing. With our friends from last night, with my closest friends from the restaurant – it wasn’t goodbye. It sounds so silly, but it was just see you later.

And we will. We’re only a drive away. My family is still down here, and I’ll see them. You guys know I’ll be back. My cousin’s wedding is this year, and my bff isn’t too far behind her. These are life events that I cannot, and will not miss.

But saying goodbye is hard, yo.

It’s not goodbye. It’s so long, see you soon.

Now I have a spare bedroom to clean out.

Next time friends, I’ll be writing you from San Francisco!

Waiter Rant

Five and a half years ago I was looking for a new job. I had my resume in with employment agency after employment agency. I clicked on link after link that Monster had to offer. And, on a whim, I put in a resume for one serving position. I talked with a manager and was advised to check back in two weeks. Two weeks later I had a phone interview, only a few days before my previous position was ending. Friday September 1st was my final day with that company. I was hired at the restaurant on Saturday the 2nd.

I didn't expect to be there long. I wanted to move to the big city and take steps toward becoming a professional author. Over the past five and a half years my life has changed substantially. My goals have shifted and altered. And yet here I am, moving to the big city and starting a graduate program in Creative Writing.

I love this job. I love the coworkers, I love the food industry and I love interacting with the public. Sure I have bad days (who doesn't?), but truly it's been a great five and a half years.

Tomorrow is my last day at the restaurant. I will cry. Tomorrow I say goodbye to the memories. I say goodbye to the girl I was when I walked in those doors, and smile at the woman I've become.

I have grown professionally and personally because of this job. I have formed friendships that I hope will last a lifetime, and made connections that I will forever treasure.

So thank you dear work friends, for making the past five and a half years so memorable. Thank you for being there through the bad tips, the rude tables, and the burnt food. We've been through some horrible times together, and some amazing ones.

And it is without irony that I say, for perhaps the last time "HB ROCKS!"

Oh Crap

One week from today I'll be in San Francisco.

One week from today I'll have been in San Francisco for over 24 hours.

I don't even have words for all the thoughts running through my head. I'm excited, of course I'm excited, but more than anything else I'm overwhelmed.

Why is moving so stressful?

Monday is my last day at my restaurant, my real last day, and that afternoon I'll be saying goodbye to the people who've colored my life for the past five years. Five freaking years.

Thursday is the day we're loading the Uhaul.

Friday we're driving up.

Time is moving way too quickly now.

I apologize for the lack of introspection in this post; I'm operating on fumes of anxiety at this point.

Still Packing

The house is an obstacle course. In the past few days I've managed to repeatedly injure myself. None of these injuries are bad (in fact the worst happened outside the home), but they consistently remind me to be careful. Bags of clothes are on the floor, surrounded by boxes, surrounded by school bags. Some of these things are packed, some need to be sorted, others haven't been touched yet. I know doing a bit each day is the smart way to do this, but it makes for a different type of stress.

In other packing related news, I've come across quite a few things from my past that have given me hope for the future. Positive reminders about who I once was, what was once important to me, and what I still have in common with that girl from years ago.

I wish I could contact her, and say don't worry Past Maile, it get's better. You become comfortable in your own skin, and the things that make you self conscience turn out to be the things you love about yourself. You will make friends, true friends. You will share your writing with others. You will go back to school. You will meet a guy who cares. You'll even move to San Francisco, just like you wanted. You will get through the growing pains. And, p.s. Past Maile, they're totally normal. Everyone has growing pains, even the people who appeared to have it all together.

I wish I could tell her not to worry so much. Hell, I wish I could tell Present Maile not to worry so much.

If you could contact your past self, what would you say to them? What words of wisdom would you offer yourself at 10? At 15? At 20? How have you changed, and in what ways have you stayed the same?

I think exploring this is one of my favorite parts about the moving process. Even if it can be painful at times.


Past Maile, before she became a ball of insecurity.

Goodbye Clothes

Now we're packing the apartment. Really packing the apartment. In some ways this is easier than the storage unit. Most of my apartment stuff is stuff that is going to San Francisco. Over the past few years, I've tried to sort through books as I go, and, bookworm that I am, those are the bulk of my regular purchases. It's the little things that aren't making the cut. A script here, a notebook there.

And the clothes.

Ah, the clothes. People say you should go through your closet once a year. Once a year! I have things I haven't touched in three! I'd like to say there's logic to what I'm keeping, that I have it down to a science, but I don't. Gone are the skirts that never fit me right, that never quite worked with my body. Gone are the sweaters I'm not sure I love, yet others I'm just as wary about stay. The jeans I can't quite fit into anymore? Some get tossed aside, others get to travel with me, waiting for the day they can be worn again. It's a quality issue; the good jeans and the good sweaters get to stay.

Then there are the clothes that still fit, and I still love, but just aren't me anymore. I'm not an ageist, I know more than a few women my own age who can still pull some of these outfits off. But sadly, I'm not one of them. Gone are my days of low cut lace up black tops and short plaid skirts.

And somehow, despite the fact that I've never considered myself a clothes horse, this is hitting surprisingly close to home. I know a lot of people who lose weight and deliberately get rid of their bigger clothes. But what if it's the opposite? What if you've been stress eating because of a big move, and hope to fit into the old clothes by March?

Today we tackle the kitchen. More Leonard's domain than my own, but I still expect some difficult decisions.

Happy New Year!

It's 2012. The year of the move. The year of change. January will be huge for us. I start my graduate program through Southern New Hampshire University, we move, Leonard starts at San Francisco State, and somewhere in there I start at a new restaurant. A month where starting a graduate program is the least stressful part of the equation.

But, if you'll forgive a little melancholy dear readers, today is a bit difficult for me. We were supposed to be on the road. Right now. I was supposed to be well past the grapevine, on the stretch of the 5 that is nothing but fields and cows. Our shiny new city apartment should have been waiting for me. Instead our move date was pushed back two weeks, and while this is definitely a good thing (seriously, what was I thinking wanting to move during the holidays), it still manages to sting a little bit.

For the next two weeks, we're on borrowed time. We're going to pack, and we're going to visit with friends. I'm going to work a little longer, which I know my restaurant is grateful for. But I also have to fight the blues.

As some of you know, I'm fairly good with dates. At one point in my life, I could tell you exactly what I was doing a year ago to the day. My inability to do this now has less to do with my memory, and more to do with the fact that my life is a bit more mundane than it was when I was 20. And happier, Lord am I happier. So every day that I'm down here, a part of me will wonder what alternate reality Maile is doing in San Francisco. It this the day she was going to start working? Did she just discover an amazing used bookstore? Is she just sitting with Mowgli, just looking out the window?

In other news, I'd like to puff up my feathers and share that I did pretty well with my resolutions for 2011. Not as great as I'd like, but I throughout the year I made active strides toward them all. I did have a great workout plan in the earlier half of the year. I did find a job outside of the restaurant industry. I did declutter my life, and I was accepted to a graduate program.

2012? Aside from learning San Francisco, I only have two resolutions. One is the standard, get back to the gym. The other is a little more personal. I'm going to write a book.

I'm getting to December 21st with at least one item crossed off my bucket list.