Hello, Again

January 30, 2007

OK, as promised, a proper introduction since last night’s attempt veered off in all sorts of odd directions.

My name’s Phoenix, and I’m a 24-year-old woman living in a small town in Upstate New York. I work as a maid at a quaint, little inn, and keep to myself as much as possible. It’s not that I’m unfriendly, it’s just that… well, it’s complicated.

A few years ago, if you’d asked me what I planned to do with my life, I certainly wouldn’t have said anything about scrubbing the toilets that other people shit in or changing the linens after they’ve had sex — but what can you do? I had to leave college after my mom and grandmother were killed, and I found myself alone and needing a job that required little experience. There’s not a whole lot of opportunities out there for a girl who’s got no money and whose only higher education is an incomplete run as a child psychology major (with a minor in the Classics). But, really, I can’t complain: compared to some hotels where I’ve worked in the past, the inn is Shangri-La. It’s quiet and peaceful, especially during the day when I’m there and most of the guests are out, and its grounds are incredibly beautiful: lush, verdant hills abutting a large, natural lake. In fact, that’s why I always take the long way home, via foot, through the forest. The owners’ grown sons, Mark and Jared, think I’m weird for that… but I don’t care.

Home, such as it is, is a cozy, little apartment filled with books and DVDs and comfy furniture that I picked up at various yard sales and thrift stores. The previous renter painted the walls a creamy eggshell blue, and I liked the color so much that the landlord left it for me — and gave me a discount on my first month’s rent since it spared him a hassle. Billy’s a good guy. Sometimes I try and imagine what it would’ve been like to have a father like him. To have a father at all.

I’ve been here for nine months, and hope to settle in for awhile. It’s been years since I’ve stayed in any one place for very long. I call these times the “in-betweens”: they’re the calm in between the chaos; the sun peeking out from in between the storm clouds; the moments of light in between the dark.

Well, anyway, I guess that’s really all there is to say about me, at least all that’s fit for inclusion in an introductory post. Thanks for listening.

Birth of A Blog

January 29, 2007

It’s funny, isn’t it, how even the least of us would like to believe that our lives matter — that, somehow, the infinitesimal amount of space we occupy during our brief stay in the world, makes even the smallest impact. Yet, for how many of us is that actually true?

What kind of mark will I have left behind once I’m gone? My life seems so… small. When I got the idea to start this blog, I thought it would be cathartic, a way to purge myself of all the things zig-zagging around, wily-nilly, inside my head. But, the truth is, I suddenly feel as though I have nothing of any use to say. Perhaps I’m just scared to begin; it’s been so long since I’ve had anyone who would listen.

Which makes me wonder: Where do thoughts go when there is no one with whom to share them? Is there some sort of neurological failsafe in place, so as to prevent overcrowding in the minds of those of us who spend most of our lives alone? Maybe thoughts simply cease to exist if they’ve gone unspoken long enough. How sad, to think of all the brilliance that might simply dry up and wither away, crumbling into ash, merely because it was formed in someone who hasn’t the opportunity to release it.

Hmm…I probably shouldn’t have written my first post while fueled by red wine and a staggering state of self-pity. A proper introduction tomorrow, when the ennui-buzz has worn off.