Hey, Beantown

I was stooping down to rinse a seashell in the ocean waters of Falmouth, at the southwestern tip of Cape Cod, and became struck with an awful sense of finality.  Eight weeks and two days prior, I woke up in my family's boat in Dana Point Harbor, splashed the Pacific for the last time in who knows how long and hit the road.  I had gone as far east as I could go and I was to sell my car - ending the road trip.

Trying to sell my car proved to be much more miserable than I had planned on.  Shopping it around Boston, I was never offered as much as half as my car's bluebook value, keeping money I needed out of reach.  On top of that, the camera I had bought for my road trip - which I had to send back to Sony's repair center who took the entirety of five weeks to repair it and send it back to Dana Point so it could be forwarded to me in Boston - came back to my hands more broken than I had sent it originally (and without the battery!).  Despite my shopping in D.C., Pittsburgh, Toronto, Montreal, and Boston, I couldn't find a wool-less coat that appealed to me, and I ended up having a lot more stuff in my car to manage than I realized.  All the while New York was drawing closer and the logistical stress was building in my stomach to the point I was sure I was going to vomit.

I solved all my problems by ignoring them.  I decided to keep my car for the time being - I found a great deal on a place to stash it in Long Island while I bummed around Brooklyn -, I went way over budget on an amazing coat, and I bought a micro 4/3rds camera that I have been coveting for some time now.  And all for much less than the price hit I'd have to swallow for trying to sell my car quickly.  Not ideal, but the stress was gone and my spirit had returned.

Boston:

I spent my last night in Massachusetts at a friend's condo in Provincetown, a small city at the very tip of Cape Cod, once a settlement for the pilgrims (an earlier attempt than Plymouth Rock even), and now a mostly gay resort town with an annual population of around 3,000 that quintuples during the Summer months.  It was a good time and it was nice to see some sand and trees before my drive to New York.

New England

I had made it back to the states just in time for Thanksgiving.  I arranged to join my friend Susan for the holiday at her brother and sister-in-law's in West Lebanon.  I was especially thankful to be in the company of vegetarians - and a terribly sweet dog named Chewie.

The days keep getting colder and I finally hit my first snow.  ...and I really mean first.  Up until I was looking up at the flurry in the sky and the Vermont and New Hampshire border, snow was always a noun and never a verb.  My friends described me as looking like a kid, and I know I felt like one.

I felt very taken care of and repeatedly enjoyed the flavors of Thanksgiving, maple syrup, and mulled wine.  We went to a Budweiser brewery in Vermont to look at the Clydesdales.  Inspecting options for a "mix-and-match six-pack:" Budweiser, Michelob, Natural Light, Busch, and Rolling Rock, I didn't realize just how many beers I didn't really care for lived in the same house.  Anheuser-Busch distributes for Stella Artois as well, and after learning this, a friend asked me, "is it bad that this makes me like it less?"

I've been in Boston for a few days now, but I've done and seen very little.  It's not the weather that's keeping me inside; I've become paralyzed with anxiety.  Most pressingly, I'm selling my car before I go to New York.  The emotional impact of this only hit me minutes ago.  I parked with the tank empty, knowing I'll be filling it once more - perhaps just a third tank or so.  Before stepping out, I studied the lines and textures of the steering wheel and the dashboard - the foreground to many of the beautiful and important things I've experienced in the last six years.  The combined logistics of trying to get a fair price for my car in such a brief amount of time, the management, transportation, and storage of all my stuff, and the steadfastly approaching thunderstorm of responsibility and adult decisions have been keeping me awfully tense.  The fibers of my arms and legs feel as if they are especially thin and quivering.  At this point I was hoping to be narrowing down candidates for new homes, and while I've been enchanted so many times over, nothing so far seems to ring of opportunity.

Never getting any closer to solutions, I've resolved to stop being such a sulky bitch for just a few more weeks and just enjoy whatever Boston and New York have for me.