Day 73: In which I am melancholy

NB (23/10): I seriously considered not posting this, but I figure that the occasional bits of glumness is a part of the experience. So, why not?

One thing about this blog -- and part of the reason I haven't been writing much recently -- is that I did not want this blog to be about me, so much as a blog about me and Claire in New Zealand. It might be a superficial distinction, given that any personal blog is about the writer, but it's one that I think is important. If I let myself talk about myself, then this whole exercise will devolve into more introspection that I am comfortable putting in a public place with my name attached.

That being said, I am currently feeling glum enough that today will be an exception. Tomorrow, I will pick myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again -- and, for maximum effect, imagine that in a classic Fred Astaire warble -- but today I am going to allow myself to write out my melancholy.

I am at the Wellington library, again, and unlike the many other entries I've written here, I am not bemoaning my lack of internet and I am not worried about jobhunting. After I am done here (done writing this, done moping), I am going to take the train down to Johnsonville with my Peace Train card, walk the familiar path up the hills to our house, make dinner in our kitchen with our farmer's market groceries, and log onto our internet and post this. I'm going to walk along streets that I've gotten familiar with to a place I am comfortable living in. I'm going to swoop down and pick up the cat, she will yowl her displeasure, and then I will scritch the patch between her shoulderblades that makes her reluctantly, reliably purr.

I mentioned over a month ago that things were beginning to feel routine, and now I realize that they are. It's not actually as comforting as one might imagine. Now that Claire and I have put down roots, I'm starting to remember that we are going to be picking up and moving on and it's going to happen sooner than I'm ready for. My sister is visiting in December, and maybe my brother, and we are going to do a whirlwind tour of New Zealand. Claire and I have theoretical, hazy plans from the new year on, and they are exciting and I am excited, but they are moving.

Everytime we pick up and go, Claire and I are leaving things behind. We will leave behind our grumpy little cat and our lovely little house and this wonderful city. We have a whole cast of characters in our Wellington lives (and, if I am honest, an embarrassing portion is populated by the neighborhood cats), and I am pre-emptively sad about leaving them.

I know that this is all a part of travel, and that these are all wonderful, rich experiences that will contribute to the person I will become, but that does not make it any less sad in the now. Tomorrow will be another grand adventure, and I will have new experiences and make new friends, but today is a melancholy day.

(And to be perfectly, terribly honest, I am still pulling myself back together from what may have been one of the most disappointing birthdays I have ever had. Not to do with anyone I was with, but purely due to an exquisite cocktail of external factors. It was a perfectly botched day, where everything went wrong, including the weather -- can you believe it, on my horrible day, it had the gall to be sunny?-- and I'm still smarting from all the disappointed hope I poured into the day. Everything will be fine, and I know it, but the mental space that holds yesterday's memories still aches a bit.)

It's also distinctly possible that I am all the sadder because I haven't really eaten much today, so I should start my trek homeward. (In a moment of weakness yesterday, I stopped by Burger King, and I learned that BK fries in New Zealand are not the same as BK fries in the States, and that, too, was another fine dusting of disappointment on the day's sundae of awful. Will nothing stop the tragedy!)

So, my friends, family and whoever else, I will bid you good night, good day, whatever it is in your time zone. May your day be better than mine, but let it be as sunny and as full of potential.