Squatter Go Home*

I think I’m permanently tired. Despite having gotten a good night’s sleep finally on Saturday, I was still a little groggy Sunday morning. But there was some sunshine and we walked through a park with trees and people attempting to play soccer and rugby. It was all very nice, but something was bugging me. Later on in the afternoon there was a sudden downpour and along with it came a wave of melancholy.

What the hell am I going to do when I get home? I was definitely ready to leave Europe and I have no regrets about changing my schedule to do so. It’s the actual being back that I’m not as ready for. I have no job and Craigslist employment listings are nearly entirely spam thanks to the economy; school doesn’t start until June 20-something; the house bands have broken up and the only live music going on in the basement is a band composed mainly of outsiders and their girlfriends who come over to practice a couple times a week, drink all our beer and don’t talk to anyone else; the roommates upstairs work all the time and therefore can’t go out; the roommate downstairs is unemployed and therefore can’t go out; my car is 80 miles south at my parent’s house and I can’t drive it anyway due to my license expiring while I was away; and my soccer team is overflowing with girls and I think I’ve lost my place. All these things are circling around one fixed image in my head: my bed as I left it two months ago, stripped to the mattress cover, strewn with papers and gadgets that I didn’t want to bring, clean clothes that didn’t get put away, and most importantly, a lump of dirty sheets that didn’t make it into the washer back in March. So instead of plopping into bed after 20 hours of traveling, I get to either do laundry or walk to the store and buy a new set of linens.

The first few days back are always like traveling anyway. There’s a new currency to deal with and I have to remember to either break my twenty (cuz ATMs don’t spit out anything smaller) inside the airport or be prepared to catch $16 from the MAX ticket machine in dollar-coins that hardly anyone even knows exist and therefore are difficult to spend. Then there’s walking from the station back to the house with all my stuff (and possibly sixteen dollars in coins), figuring out the bus schedule on Wednesday in order to go to the DMV and renew my license and making sure I have the right change to even get on the bus, possibly taking the dreaded Greyhound down to the parents’ or having to clean the house in order for them to come up to Portland.

What a complainer! I may post some more later, but I've got to get something to eat before I pass out.




*Anti-Flag song that came up on itunes this morning and has been stuck in my head ever since.