OK, it's getting late and my first day of work is mere hours away, but I owe you a couple quick updates ...
The CIA agent. Here are the pictures. Clandestine register shot No. 1:
And No. 2:
And the super-secret rear view!
OK, the end of the story. No, I did not go up to him and tell him I've been blogging to the entire Internet about his secret identity, and don't ask me why not, because none of you would have done it either and you KNOW it! (OK, except for Manic. Ha.) Here's what happened: He looks at me about a thousand times. He packs up his computer, but he doesn't leave--he sits there for a while. And then he finally gets up and slowly walks across the coffee shop toward the exit ... but wait! He doesn't leave; instead, he goes into the bathroom. A couple minutes later, he walks out, stops and looks over at me. He smiles, and I sort of smile back. He takes a step toward me, and then he smiles again before turning around and walking out the door, out of the coffee shop, out of Miss Swishy's life forever.
I know I joke all the time about my little CIA agent, but it was honestly kind of a poignant moment. I hope he really is a secret agent, or at least that he secretly reads my blog and gets a little bit of a kick out of it.
Friday was moving day. I spent a big chunk of the day on my bathroom floor. At first it was to stay out of the way (the bathroom was the one off-limits room), and then it was because every time I walked out, I saw less home and more empty, impersonal apartment and it all started to get a little overwhelming.
I tried really hard to hold it together (I blow dried my hair! I had like six different kinds of drinks in the fridge! I went out at freaking 7 a.m. on 2 1/2 hours of sleep and got bagels for everyone!) but there were a million little things left to do and I was completely overtired and emotional and as the day went on, I was just like, PUT MY STUFF DOWN AND GET OUT OF MY HOUSE. It was not my favorite day, and thank goodness I have wonderful people in my life who can put up with me when I am way, way less than perfect, that's all I can say.
I wrote my name on my bedroom wall before I left. I always do that before I leave a place, write my name somewhere tiny where no one but me knows it's there. I've done it since I was eight. I guess it's my way of making sure I leave a mark.
Two completely random interactions with strangers:
I'm taking some of the last stuff out to my friend's car when an older guy across the parking lot gets my attention. "I know we've never met," he says, "but I'm sorry to see you go."
I'm on the plane, looking like a complete wreck. I'm tired and I've been crying all morning and all I want to do is go to sleep. I try sitting back, I try leaning on my hand. I'm putting my head on my knees when the guy sitting next to me, a kid with tattoos and longish hair and several piercings, taps me on the shoulder. Without a word, he hands me his pillow. He had been leaning on it while he wrote music in a little notebook. "Are you sure?" I ask, and he nods. I take it. It smells like peppermint and I'm able to fall right to sleep. It was one of the nicest things a stranger has ever done for me.
I've had one meltdown so far and, not surprisingly, it has to do with TV and my inability to watch it. So, you know, even though I'm in a new place, I am pretty much the same old Swishy. I'll tell you about it later, but now I have to try to go to sleep so I don't get fired on my first day. Have a good Monday, everyone!