It has been said of the Irish that they would leave the island simply to return home again. It is a curious thing, but I think that they developed such an affection for their huge piece of rock that they knew time away was what made home into Home.
The past week has been a difficult one from a Home perspective. My apartment woes are documented in many an entry. But more events are in the queue. Here's a brief timeline:
Friday—attempt to move into apartment. The landlord tells me that it is not ready, and that the carpet needs to be replaced.
Saturday—repeat attempt to move into apartment. This time, I determine independently that the apartment is not ready. See pictures.
Monday—lease break. Despite having signed the lease, the state of the apartment was such that the landlord had not honored their obligations. I request and receive my money back. I find a new place.
Tuesday—major events. I arrive at work at 7:30 in the morning and work until 8:30. I leave to reserve a new apartment in a much nicer neighborhood. I return to work at 10:30 to find the manager of hardware engineering clearing out his desk.
Tuesday night—After getting the spook, I send my resume to roughly six companies, with another two or three in the pipe.
Wednesday—I get a response from Objective Systems.
Thursday—Having arrived home for Easter, I set up an interview.
Friday morning—I go to said interview.
Friday afternoon—I have a job offer.
"No, that's correct." (Twenty points to those who can identify that line; only five to those I talked to this weekend.) A company roughly ten minutes from my parents' house has offered me a job.
So in the past week, I have gone from slightly homeless (not really) to a new job with the definite possibility of relocating.
This kind of brings us back full-circle to Home. For I have missed it, and I would like to return to the north very badly. I have been gone essentially for six years in the midwest and now the south, and I am ready to return to family and friends, and the possibility of a social life. (If nothing else, I'm sure Jess will finally take me glow bowling.)
And, of course, to that bastion of home herself, Er, if she'll have me. The prospects are so tantalizing, and sometimes far out of reach. But the past years have taught me at least one thing—I miss this place, and I miss its people. I am leaving the Mouse's House, that is for certain, even if the timeframe is not fixed.
I am coming Home.
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