Chapter Twenty-Eight; in which our hero prepares to move

Moving blows.

I'm moving out to Portland and I'm really keen about that. I'm excited for my roommates. I'm excited for the job I have. I'm excited to live in this city.

But I've gotta drag all my shit our from Sebago. I've got to paint walls this bland grey (grey?) color (colour?). I've got to paint my floors a slightly blander gray.

Ah well. It should be good times. I'll be out with friends and working at a job that isn't eating my soul. My favorite difference from editing and teaching is that once I leave work, I've left work. I never have any grading or lesson-plans to do at home. True, had I been an efficient or wise teacher, I might've been able to lessen that load BUT the fact is that first year teachers have ass-loads o' work.

I am, however, going to need a second job. Part time at $10.50 an hour is simply not enough to pay the bills. So I'm thinking I should become a server somewhere or something. Maybe a job that can hook me up with a free meal. Or maybe Bull Moose is hiring? That'd be pretty groovy, I think. I'm not looking for a lot of hours, just some extra moolah coming my way.

I picked up Spoon's album Gimme Fiction. Great idea. I bought it on Wednesday, I think, and I've basically listened to it non-stop since then. Which of course means I'll burn out on it, but it's good times until then. Right now I have the song "Was it you?" stuck in my head and it's intermingling with M. Ward's "Four Hours in Washington" off Transistor Radio.

Good tunes. Good times.

PS. Charles Bukowski is pretty cool.