Excuses, Excuses. A Rambling Post of Epic Proportions. In Two Parts.

Starting from a dead stop. It requires energy and motivation. A lot of energy and motivation. I know very well how difficult it is to overcome inertia. Physics was one of my least favorite subjects, but I do remember enough to know that this has something to do with Newton’s Three Laws of Motion, so it’s not like I’m imagining things.

I’m talking about my writing life here, folks.

Or I should say, what writing life? I moved to St. Thomas almost a year ago with the intention of writing more, to even create a writing lifestyle for myself. My current reality, however, is that I write as much as if not less than when I lived in Minnesota—ironic because I’m far more inspired by life in St. Thomas. My goal is to get to the point where a day without writing is as uncomfortable and rare as a day without eliminating waste.

I am growing stronger (hopefully wiser) and more peaceful. Life feels rich and blessed and mysterious. I have lots of ideas, but have lacked the creative space and focus to explore them. Other than my blog, which frequently goes on hiatus when life gets too busy, I haven’t actually been putting fingertips to keyboard. Unless we’re referring to texting on my iphone. That I have managed to spend a good amount of time doing.

Anyway, in the interest of bringing those who care up to speed on my St. Thomas adventure, and to present my excuses for not having blogged since mid-May, I’ve constructed a two-part timeline of my life since last posting a silly little piece on goats.

May 20-June 3. Visit Minnesota. I had the best intentions to write, but socializing with loved ones and preparing for Lissa and Michael’s beautiful wedding left no time for creative endeavors. More reflections on my first trip back to the motherland soon to come.

June 3-4. Return to St. Thomas. My (ex)boyfriend/landlord/roommate was (still is) obviously seeing someone else. Granted, we knew our relationship was over before I left and that I’d be looking for a new apartment. (As with most break-ups, I guarantee the reasons for this one vary widely, depending on the party you ask.) The thought of staying in his house with only one bed, one bath, no privacy, and a surplus of awkward, was pretty darn miserable to me. Mr. T was very careful to make it known that he was not kicking me out, however. And we mustn’t sully his nice guy image. It was my choice to leave, but really, why stay?

June 5-7. Move out. Luckily, I have very nice employers at R&J’s, and they were kind enough to let me and Hershey occupy their downstairs apartment until I found my own place. So I moved in over the course of a few days with all the spare energy I had outside of work. This would be move number four on the island. Move number six in the last 18 months.

June 10-20. Ain't no rest for the wicked. A few days after moving into my temporary pad, I started what for me was a near grueling work schedule. Both R&J were off island, and they entrusted me to oversee coffee shop operations during their absence. I didn’t mind this at all, in fact, I rather enjoyed the added responsibility and challenge. It did, however, require me to arrive downtown at 5:30am and I leave no earlier than 4pm for the next week or so. Now this in itself isn’t that bad, but Thursday through Sunday, I worked at the Toad and the Tart from 5pm-10:30pm. So I was tired. Hershey was lonely. When not working, I took care of the dog, drove, slept, showered, and ate. I didn't write.

June 10- present. More work and little play. I’ve continued working around 50 hr weeks. When I started at the Toad and Tart, I was only supposed to do two nights a week. But while in Minnesota, the other server quit. So, I’ve been obliged to work all four nights. Which has actually worked out because I’ve needed the money. There is an end in sight, however. A friend of our Grillmaster recently arrived on island. She has bartending experience and needs a job. Woo-hoo. Two nights a week at the pub will be perfect. More financial stability and more time to enjoy life on the island.

Now, if only the old Tart and St Thomas life don’t scare her away…

Too late. They already did. Since I started this blog post, she already informed me that she's leaving.

Guess I'll be at the T&T four nights a week for a little while longer...

June (in general). Responsibilities. During my stay at the R&J’s homestead, I used what little spare time and money I had to give both my car and my dog some overdue medical attention. My car received an oil change, two new tires, and new front brakes. Hershey got all his vaccinations, pills for tick fever and started back on Heartguard.

Don’t stop moving. I didn’t want to linger at R&J’s for longer than a month due to an independent nature and  feeling impatient to settle in my own place. I looked at a couple apartments and took the one that let me have Hershey. I’m not good at apartment searching, job searching, etc. I don’t like to spend time focusing on the search- especially when I’m really in need, which I realize doesn’t make any sense. I like to make a decision and move on. The problem with this attitude is that I often settle for the first thing I can live with instead of taking risks and holding out for something better.

With which head are you thinking? And perhaps unsurprisingly, part of the reason I was in such a hurry to get my own place is because the person helping with my car and promising to help with my mom’s vehicle was also helping my sad and neglected libido. This required both privacy and anonymity.

July 1. Large room with a view. So I rented this place with some really cute features like:

a vaulted ceiling with exposed rafters, and

a view of Magen's Bay.

But it also was dirty, termite-infested, the couch has a hole, and whoever painted seemed to get bored after one coat. But I could afford it, I liked the neighborhood, and the gregarious, off-island landlord let me keep Hershey. It’s hard to tell the difference between island funky and a dump. I would never live in an apartment like this in the states, but your standards change in St. Thomas. They become less American and more…I don’t know… third world tropical?

But I like to think of my new pad as bohemian.

To be continued...