While I'm not sure that I believe in psychic abilities, I can say without a doubt, that I believe most things happen for a reason, and that others are just meant to be. I always envisioned moving to the East coast post-graduation, and knew that I would eventually make it happen. The "how" escaped me for a while, but I persisted.
Interviewing for jobs across the country wasn't easy. I wasn't being taken seriously and I'm sure that the nervous, frenetic energy I harbored crept into my voice during the interviews that I did manage to secure. I stuck with it, and eventually found a job, immediately quiting the internships I had taken in an attempt to keep busy and productive during my job-quest.
Even though I had been out of school for 9 months, I finally felt like the next phase of my life was about to begin.
And once the realization sunk in that "moving to the East coast" actually meant moving, I started to panic about the housing situation. Sure, interviewing for jobs was hard, but finding an apartment would be impossible …
Cue mysterious phone call from a family friend, informing us that another mutual friend was roommate-hunting for her daughter. Not only was it perfect timing, but (as I may have mentioned) seemingly preordained as well. After contacting the mutual friend to inquire about the room, Momma J – was told the story of the psychic prediction.
After having problems filling their empty room, the family consulted a psychic. “Not to worry. A girl with long brown hair, that your daughter already knows, will move into the apartment within three months."
Because, naturally, who wouldn't consult their psychic when having problems finding a suitable roommate for their daughter?
And as predicted, here I am living in the City. New York and I shared the first year of our relationship intertwined with one of the most amazingly eccentric, astoundingly bizarre, "old money" New York families. While I lived with the Daughter, Momma J was back in Texas with the matriarch of the family, fondly (as far as I can tell) referred to by her husband as "the Missus."
The original purpose of this blog was to serve as a chronicle of my life with the crazy Daughter. Of course the Mister and Missus played a big part in that story as well. While I’ve since moved on from my relationship with the family, the crazy has pretty much remained a constant in my relationship with New York – how could it not?
Even though I’ve moved out of that first apartment – and on from the idea of keeping a blog about it – I still find myself bolting out of bed in the middle of the night to scribble notes about stories I want to write down and develop further. After months of this, I’ve decided to push aside my laziness and actually act on my impulse to write it all down. After all, I’ve always enjoyed writing as a form of catharsis, having kept journals on and off for as long as I can remember.
So welcome to my first foray into blogging (unless you count that emo-teen-angst Xanga blog I had in high school …) Hopefully the ramblings of one Southern girl turned City (one among many others, I know) will entertain – at least a little.
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