Labor Pains

or The Baltimore Fiasco
or Son Of Marcus Whines A Few Bad Ugly Dollars Again
or Old Brown Shoe
or Je Suis Le Chef Du Zaire!

Yesterday was Labor Day. The holiday weekend started with some large generator on Bachman Turner Overdrive outside my window at 0730 on Friday, either shredding documents or making Soylent Green until the offices opened. What was worse, there was no new episode of Galactica. No wonder I was grouchy! I re-awoke later and exercised my right as blog overseer to delete the whining. Funny how being under-rested can seem like a crisis at the time.

Holidays here get me down, not least because (as has been well documented) my private life leaves a lot to be desired. It's funny how expectations shape your experience. If I came to Norfolk expecting it to be my entire existence, I dare say I wouldn't have been so resentful of its limitations all the freaking time. Indeed, my first six weeks here were as happy days as I can remember. I played soccer in the park at lunch and I even liked the weather. Then I got a phone call from Baltimore saying that half the whole reason I came here, my on/off girlfriend since 2001, didn't want to see me any more. Nuts!

It was a time of great change for both of us but I was still living out of a suitcase and it all felt like forward momentum to me. Naturally, her reasons were valid but her decision was a complete surprise and there was no ultimatum and no chance to make amends. I tried for a long time, but someone else had her ear already and it's clear now that I'll get no support or compassion while that remains the case. That two people who had so much in common don't even communicate any more is retarded.

Let's be clear: some days the ground she walked on was holy and other days her A.D.D. would run my nerves ragged. We both had doubts and talked of things we wanted to improve between us. But I was really looking forward to finding out if we had what it took to make it all the way, and not even trying after all our patience and preparation still dumbfounds me. I've been through the whole gamut of emotion about it and, in the end, I'm simply sad and resigned. A friend recently coined the phrase "The Baltimore Fiasco" and it seems like the most economic way to refer to the whole mess. Until the other side wants reconciliation too, the situation is firmly on the pile of stuff I can't do anything more about. "Je suis le chef du Zaire," as the Belgians say when their best-laid plans go awry.

Ultimately, the big question has to be "would I have still come here if I wasn't expecting so much from the experience?" The answer's yes, of course. It's been a singular year and you couldn't pay me to do it over, but I've learned more about myself than I ever thought possible. I've quenched a thirst for new experience. I've dated with some success. I've learned that the grass isn't always greener. I've lost weight, though that's probably more through malnutrition than exercise! I've enjoyed the congeniality of strangers and validated my theory that civility is not outdated. I'm comfortable with American culture, should I ever come back. I have a whole new appreciation for things British that I took for granted before. Going home is going to involve a lot of teasing about phrases I've picked up but should otherwise feel like putting on a comfortable old pair of shoes. Perhaps most importantly compared to a year ago, I am free of doubt and know better than ever what I'm looking for from life. Not a bad return on a year's investment. Funny how it all seemed like a crisis at the time!

If this saves me some awkward conversations when I get home, that's gravy. Comments are always welcome but I don't expect any. Implicit here is that if I later get that sinking feeling you get when you've sent an e-mail you shouldn't have and edit this text to within an inch of its original meaning, then you don't make too much of a fuss about that either. Ta!