The part of this whole “move” thing where I cry like a little girl
Last Friday, the very cool people in my new office asked me if I had plans for the evening. They had tickets to that night’s Blazers game against the Sonics. GTB and I had talked a little about hooking up with a few of his friends, but nothing was solid. When I emailed him to see if he wanted to go, and at some point mentioned the tickets came with a free parking pass, he said “Hell yeah.” So we went.
Our seats were incredible. Not more than ten rows off the floor. We could see them sweat (which, when it’s Ray Allen or Luke Ridnour, is a good thing), that’s how good the seats were. I’d never been to a pro basketball game before, so I was enjoying all of the carnivalia that happens during timeouts and at halftime. The two overpriced beers I drank helped ease me into a comfortable state of spectation. In other words, I was kickin’ back, havin’ a good time.
During the third quarter, however, as beer number two started to wear off a little, I found myself thinking that the city I now walk around in is no longer the same one Allen, Ridnour, or Collison do. Now I share streets with a bunch of guys I don’t know (except for Seattle native Martell Webster, of course). I started to get a little shaky.
Then, GTB said, “Look at the crossbars behind the hoop. See Paul Allen?” That was it. I was now wiping tears away with enough frequency that GTB couldn’t help but notice. I couldn’t stop them. The lump in my throat was actually painful. And there was no good way to get to the bathroom without everyone in our expensive section seeing the smeared mascara and puffy, red eyes.
Paul fucking Allen, people. I still don’t totally know why he set me off like that. But there I was thinking about how well I feel like I know him. I spent most of my non-profit career begging money from his foundation. I read too many articles to count about his real estate investments. And don’t even get me started on the EMP. I am FAMILIAR with Paul Allen. I know he owns the Blazers, so it makes sense that he was at a game in Portland, but he is basically synonymous with Seattle. And I don’t live there anymore. Any knowledge I have about him is useless here (not that it was doing me a lot of good in Seattle, but still). Any knowledge of any Seattle stuff is pretty much useless now. I’m starting over. And I’m scared shitless.
So there I was, crying at a basketball game. GTB, naturally, thought I was crazy and wanted to know what was wrong. As any overly emotional girl can tell you, when you are struggling to hold back tears, talking about the thing that is making you cry is a surefire way to make them come faster. I couldn’t talk to him about why I was suddenly boderline hysterical. I just was. It passed eventually, but that feeling of loss stuck around.
The next morning, I had a haircut appointment with one of GTB’s friend’s older sister. I’d heard she was a whiz and A does have adorable hair, so I set off to see the amazing L at 16th & Weidler. I’d looked at a map; I thought I could find my way there. As I left the house, GTB said, “Do you need directions?” In an effort to prove to myself that I knew this city a little and could at least manage my way to Northeast, I said, “Nope, I’ll find it.”
When I hit Ainsworth, with no Weidler in sight, I called GTB. “If I’m on Ainsworth, have I gone too far north?”
“Um yeah,” he said sympathetically. “About forty blocks.” He proceeded to give me directions back south to the salon and I only arrived ten minutes late.
So much for that little shred of independence. Needless to say, it was a rough weekend.
Monday morning, I drove back to Seattle for a day in the office up there. I originally planned to stay overnight so I could be there for two working days (apparently, there were going to be big announcements I needed to be present to hear), but at about 2:00 p.m., I was so homesick for GTB, my little house, and, God help me, Portland, that I tried to figure out a way to come home early. Instead, I worked late, stayed with a co-worker, got to the office early this morning, was there for the big announcements (which were pretty cool, by the way), and left as soon as I could.
I’m home in Portland now. That’s right dear reader, HOME. I still feel a little discombobulated. My stuff is here, GTB is here, my cat is here, my job is now here. But everything else is still in Seattle. I miss my friends. I miss knowing my way around. I miss having a bar where they know my drink. I knew that this was going to come down on me like a ton of bricks at some point. I knew it was coming, I just didn’t expect it to come during a professional basketball game.