word (i.e. god knows).

I just started reading "Eat, Pray, Love" by a lovely woman whose name escapes me right now, and I'm too lazy to go grab the book out of the other room, because god knows I'd probably get distracted and end up not entering an entry into my bliggity blog. And we all know how hard it is for me to get to this point in the first place, so let's not push it, shall we? Anyhoodle, about a million people have mentioned this book, but I've resisted attaining it because, after my traumatic -though-necessary pre-move purge [of so much lovely, lovely stuff] in Santa Barbara, I don't really want to buy things only to have to haul them around. After all, I'm still essentially homeless (though god [also] knows, this really can't last for much longer, right?), and anything I buy is yet another thing I'll need to move from 1 storage unit to another, and then eventually, someday, to some semblance of housing unit, somewhere, though god knows where, because for the life of me, I cannot bring myself to any kind of acceptance, try as I might, to the idea of living anywhere in Louisiana. Which would explain why, after practically 6 weeks in Minnesota, I'm still planning to stay for yet another 3. My point being that I'm house-sitting, and the book is here in the house, so I'm free to read it without having to purchase it. Ahem.

In the first section of "Eat, Pray, Love" (which Kathy Pope described as "really your kind of book, Angi"), the author and friends discuss the idea of finding one word to describe different cities (Rome=Sex, Stockholm=Conform, NYC=Achieve, LA=Succeed, etc.), which I thought was a fun little exercise. Like if you expanded that, and could think of a word to describe your life, or maybe the different phases of your life, which words would you choose? I used to do this with boyfriends: The one-legged Divemaster, The Malaysian, The Lobbyist, The Bartender, etc. In retrospect, it doesn't seem the best idea to attach the labels to people, actually. It's somehow really objectifying, or something, which probably explains why I no longer do it (except to distinguish one from the other, as in the case where 2 love interests have the same name, for instance.). But it really made me think, how would I describe this strange, yet seemingly very necessary, hiatus I've undertaken? Or do I need to describe it? Maybe it's better if I don't label it as one thing or the other verb, or noun. I suppose it just is. No matter how confusing and conflicting it feels.

God help me, I do not want to go back south though, not back to Louisiana, even if the best job in the world is waiting for me. I can't say I necessarily want to stay in Minne, and maybe I've just turned the whole state of LA into my personal bogey (put a little boogie in it) man. Dunno. I've been really tuned in to how lonely I've been for the past couple months- maybe even the whole time since I left 2 years ago. California was good- I had friends there, people who looked out for me, invited me to BBQs and Superbowl parties, good people I could lean on. There even were/are a few in Louisiana, but because we all work offshore, there's no guarantee that we'll be on the beach at the same time, and I don't even know where to begin looking for people to know in Louisiana. The thing is, of course, that it's not my girls (actually, this is a big part of it- none of them are girls at all, they're all men), it's not the people I've known forever. Another big realization is that I think I've entered a different part of my life from the one I was in when I made the decision to go into this line of work. I don't need to bust anybody's balls anymore; I don't need to prove anything to anyone (read: myself). I've done plenty. Really I have. I don't need to rattle off all the amazing adventures I've had, or all I've accomplished in my round-about jill-of-no-trades way. Because it's a bit like what I was talking about earlier: pigeonholing myself by applying too many labels, a sort of shield no one can ever look behind.

I sort of just want normalcy, to be able to live a normal life, where I can cook my own meals, live in my own home, and have a normal relationship with a guy of like interest/background. Normal stuff, I mean, relatively speaking, right? It's still me in here, after all. I don't want to be bored, but maybe just a bit more constancy, stability. Maybe it all just has to break down before it can be built back up. Maybe I'm just finally getting to the bottom of the pile of shit my mind has identified as the "interesting life I want to live" and getting down to what I really want, what I've really wanted all along. Because it seems to me that the stuff my mind comes up with never really gets me to where I want to be.

So maybe it's time for something else, something deeper, to start calling the shots.