Unemployment

I quit my job at Hastings on Thursday of last week.
It was vaguely crazy because I just didn't want to work for THIS weekend. I can't say that I (always) hated it there. I quit a job I have worked at for...nearly a year, so I could go on a trip to Bellingham. I grabbed my last paycheck and put it in checking. Nick and I stuffed random clothing into backpacks and stole some chicken out of my father's fridge. We scarfed it and fled to the open road.

During the first stretch of the journey I silently watched the numbers on the CD player tick closer to my scheduled shift. I writhed about nervously and breathed a sigh of relief after four 'o' clock rolled by and Hastings failed to call me.

Nick and I are struggling. It's all directly linked to my afflictions. We seemed to do okay for the first while. He was brimming with excitement for his new job. He even listened to my music in the car. (Whoa.)
The mood took a serious plummet as we stepped onto the Western Washington University campus. It was beautiful. The trees tried to graze the old sturdy buildings. The WTF statue glistened in the sun. I could see the Puget sound from a balcony where I imagined myself lighting cigarettes between classes. I wandered up a trail behind one of the buildings and I got into a forest in less than a minute. I loved the campus dearly. I began to talk about all of the things I would do in each respective spot.
"Oh I'll get coffee in the Underground Cafe and smoke on this whimsical staircase."
"I could go on adventures through the woods"
"Look at that music building! I could try to take classes there."
Etc. etc.
Nick was not digging my enthusiasm.
Because to go to college is to leave him.

We found a beautiful little beach with an odd table and chair set. I think he felt better sitting under a train track overlooking the ocean playing Spanish guitar.

Anyways, we slept in a flimsy tent surrounded by hundreds of obnoxious people in Larrabee State Park. I heard a cougar eating what sounded like a wild boar. It was horrifying and Nick slept through it all.

I dreamt I had been beaten and had egg shaped bruises on my hips. It was just my mind's feeble protests against the rocky soil.

We roused ourselves early and set off again. After a tasty breakfast at The Bagelry we set off to Canada. Vancouver specifically. Canada was awful. He went there to drink alkie. I went there unenthused but willing to be a good sport after the Belligham depression.
The border agent was a skinny blonde bitch. She seemed like a dominatrix and all I knew of was her voice and skinny forearm. (I was in the passenger seat)
We decided that Canadians enjoy triangles more than other shapes because the roofs were all fashioned that way.
Vancouver was huge and a strange combination of friendly and apathetic. The people all looked happy, like in their shopping bags and large purses IV drips of serotonin were trickling into their veins. No one looked at strangers though. I didn't understand the currency at all. Gas said it cost 105.3. I though I must have been confusing something...
A man was lounging on his apartment balcony butt naked. I stared.
We found an enchanting park, but then we got very lost. After harsh words and many dehydrated hours of hiking through the streets, we finally made it back to the red ZX2. We hightailed it out of that country and headed for the USA border. I played angry Nirvana music.

Then the story goes from intruiging to just plain wacked out. I come up with the brilliant idea of stalking my friend across Washington to Forks. (It was supposed to be a joke.) Nick latched on to the plan though and starts driving as I complain about my nausea incessantly. We finally get a hold of Alec and he tells me to go home.

So we do. After many hours of driving we pull up to the lovely shed called home and collapse into a real bed. Sure we have a slight ant infestation currently, but it beats the living shit out of camping without a sleeping bag.

Strange times. And I wonder, will I get another job?