“It’s so true, T. I really can make it anywhere.”

Once again–twice in one week, even–I find myself wishing I had written earlier about all the things I wanted to say. In this case, I feel I should get all my ducks in a row (cliche, and one I really don’t understand at that) before I leave.

But don’t give yourself away

It’s been a long while since I’ve written, mostly because I was closing up the office and moving my junk back to Pittsburgh and packing it again to move away to New York next week.

So I wanted to long on and write about how dismal the end of summer has been, as I knew it would be.

Or about how people are too worrisome for their own good — and our culture supports it.

Or about how I never saw my dad cry as much as he did yesterday when we dropped my little sister off for her freshman year of college at Allegheny — this probably has something to do with the fact that the sane one is gone, he’s left with a head case daughter, and soon I won’t be around either.

Or about my grandparents, how their minds and backs dwindle.

Or about how badly my head is swimming after a few too many shots of Jameson with friends — and parents of friends, and friends of parents, and a friend’s classic rock cover band. At least I still have Cheap Trick’s “Surrender” in my head, reminding me my parents are all right, just a little weird.

But I’m not going to write about any of that. Just do me a favor, listen to “Sunday Morning Comin’ Down”…any version you like, though Kristofferson or Cash would be best. That’s all. That’s today.

Individuality smothered by an old laptop.

There’s a woman I share my office with this summer who’s younger than I. She’s brilliant, with her mother a doctor of medicine and her father a founding member of Adobe. She’s lovely to speak with about writing, as she’s crazy about Austen and Shakespeare, but when it comes to music, she doesn’t know much beyond classical, musical soundtracks and Edith Piaf.

Which is why I was excited when she asked to burn a few of my CDs we’d been playing in the office over the course of the summer. Sure, I have some great stuff that’s worth listening to. I try to introduce everyone I spend any considerable amount of time with to Mates of State and The Clarks. I expected her to pick a few CDs, ask for my input, and put them onto her iPod, then branching out from what she liked and finding new artists even I haven’t heard of.

Imagine my dismay, then, when she took on a weeklong-and-still-going project to burn every disc in my collection. More than 200 CDs I’ve been accumulating in books in my car since I was 17 years old are now all being transferred into the computer of a sophomore at Cornell.

I’m uncomfortable.

The marketing machine.

Breathing a little easier today.

I’m getting ahead on my work for the rest of the summer, so the last few days I have to spend at Chautauqua can be fulfilling, since I’m constantly distressed about the perfect summer location and complete and utter lack of time. So I’ll be the one belly-up on the dock at 2 a.m. Tuesday morning, because the Perseids are so summer.

Anyway, I went for the interview Monday. I sweated through the interview (a suit jacket + 90 degrees in midtown Manhattan does NOT make for a comfortable time), and I figured I was still in OK shape, despite my apologies for the breathless demeanor. Then they said they were considering another person. All hope was lost.

It’s remarkable. I immediately thought I was drab, thought I could have done much better, thought I spent $300 on a plane ticket for nothing, thought this other consideration was from a big-name school with high grades and an affinity for romance novels. I left the interview and couldn’t even shop happily because I was so disheartened. They said I’d hear by Wednesday if they made a decision.

So here it was, Wednesday afternoon, I didn’t leave my cell phone alone all day, and it was about 3:00 before I gave up on hearing back.

And then a blur. My office phone rang, it’s Tim from Dorchester, he’d like to offer me the job, I’m shaking like a madwoman and say yes, and I’m back to photocopying theater articles from the season.

So..phew.

Now I begin the strenuous task of locating a New York apartment. At least I was able to look at my “Save the date” today and not have much of a heart attack.

On another note, my writing has been boring the hell out of me recently. I guess this happens when I run out of stimuli.

Just a soul whose intentions are good.

In 24 hours I’ll hop a car ride to Buffalo, a plane to New York City, a cab to Astoria, have dinner and a drink with friends, sleep, awaken to a 45-minute train ride to Herald Square, walk to E 35th & Madison, meet with a potential employer, leave happy or completely disheartened, go shopping (which will be therapeutic or celebratory, depending on said meeting), meet an old friend for lunch, train back to Astoria, gather my things, bus back to LaGuardia, fly back to Buffalo, drive back to Chautauqua and pass out.

So, yeah. I think I have my work cut out for me. Not to mention I’d be a great subject for a children’s book highlighting modes of transportation. I’m sure I could try to fit a boat ride in somewhere.

Of course, I’m completely stressed. Not about the interview. I have total control over that. But the car ride? The flight? How many things can possibly go wrong that I can’t control? These are the throughts running through my head the past two days as I check and re-check the weather, flight times, train routes, engine oil, etc. I thank my mother for the incredible sense of worry she’s blessed me with, and I thank my father and sister for telling us we’re crazy.

I wish I could learn to relax. Yesterday my legs were like Jell-O, and I couldn’t catch my breath. My heart slams every time I think about traveling alone.

And on top of everything, I saw a “save the date” in the new BonAlumnus for the Hellinger Awards. And I have to make a speech in front of incredibly successful people for an award I still can’t understand receiving. So it was mini-heart attack central all over again.

Maybe a gin and The New Yorker just before I board will make me feel a little better. Sigh. Wish me luck.