The Job Hunt is on...

New York, here I am. Three bags packed and a one way ticket has found me head-on in this massive metropolis. Despite the constant smell of dead fish and trash juice, I am loving it. Drips of mystery liquid descend from hanging balconies but I don't really care because I am instantly distracted by something else. The throbbing pulse is international and exciting, no matter where you turn.

Stressing just slightly about the unemployed status of my new situation I am fully diving into the job hunt. I will be leaning in an unconventional direction, in that Labor and Delivery will not be my only focus. I have sent my resume to a plethora of offices, hospitals, facilities, strip joints, movie theaters and clinics hoping that it has been edited to perfection. My qualifications may be minimal for some of the mentioned places, but I have faith that my dynamic persona will hook, line and sinker any boss.

This morning was #1 of a potential 2 interviews for the day. I questioned my outfit. Do these red shoes really go with this fancy black skirt and this not-so-fancy white shirt? Then I briefly recalled the combinations of outfits I have seen walking the streets and assured myself that I looked just fine. I have already been offered this particular position at The New York Center for Addiction Treatment Services, which is a day clinic for adult substance abusers, but I was so confused of what the position entailed, I asked to "shadow" for a bit. The position is part time and would require me to spend a few hours assessing the patients of previous and current drug addiction. I would question their medical and health history referring anything suspicious or questionable to the staff MD. Since the previous nurse high-tailed it of there without a trace, I was left in the hands of office personnel for details.

Mr Lang, the Director, was who I met with. Nice, but so very difficult to hear and understand when he said anything. He was a mumbler, with a heavy southern drawls and soft spoken. I think I left more confused then when I first arrived. He may be a substance abuser himself which could make for an incredibly fun work environment if those are some of the stipulations required to fit in. If that is case, I will bring my own addictions to the office. They say cocaine and heroin are a deadly duo, but how do they feel about chocolate and nuts? Talk about disaster. 

I got excited when he told me that once a week the nurse holds group meetings addressing any health topic that may pertain to particular conditions. I wonder if I would get to write on a dry erase board? A far cry from laboring women, addicted men would add a spice to my work history and could open a lot of doors (and feasible black eyes from the unstable patients) so I am keeping the possibility open. If I will be working closely with Mr. Lang, I may to need to hire a translator so I can decipher what the hell he is saying to me. Cost effective? Maybe not.

I am currently residing on Sam and Scotts air mattress that conveniently inflates and deflates in 60 seconds. This is just part of the "living out of a suitcase" itinerary I am following which is temporary for now...or so they think. Hopefully, I stay on their good side and Sam can rope in the good grades thus bringing harmony and love into what could turn violent or silent.

The Hudson River and Central Park have been visited and clearly deciphered as my oasis from the storm. The canopy of trees that hang over head in the park create the feel of a jungle. My mind literally trails back into history as I see horse carriages trot through lamp post lined streets. And the Hudson, serving as an avenue for all things industrial and large steel masses, reminds me that New York City is such a vibrating epicenter.

This month has been a bit exhausting. I honestly can't find anything in my swarm of suitcase that has been pushed into the corner. Nothing stays folded which baffles me and I should really look into how people get laundry done in this city because I am nearing the end of my clean clothes.

The job hunt continues as does my exploration of my new temporary home. I spent some time long-boarding yesterday and have discovered a new past time. It was fun...even as the passersby screamed and ran out of my way. 

So, the week ahead should be telling. Send good juju...

The Hub

I have been back in Chicago for two and half weeks now. When I landed, and the blanket of humidity lightly hydrated my months of Utah dry skin, I felt at ease. It was an immediate sense of familiarity and fondness. The Midway airport is always bustling, emitting a smell of travel from one carry on to the next, and it generally makes me smile.

My Nigerian cab driver struck up a little game of geography and we chatted about the news, oil prices and what he thought of Orbitz new gum flavors. He likes the new Sangria one but could do without the Bubblemint. (me too) The point that he seemed to keep driving home was that Chicago is the greatest place he has ever lived and no 'man, woman, of force of the nature' could make him leave. This may have been sparked by the fact I was practically sticking my entire torso out of the window, arms flapping in the wind, yelling how much I loved it here and how good it felt to return. With a look of "what the hell?", he questioned why I had even wanted to leave. "Change is always good", I told him. Quoting my moms words of wisdom. The nine month hiatus I had taken from this very lakefront had rejuvenated all of my senses. I was back and fresher than ever.

I am staring at the skyline now as I see the city scurry below me. Sears is standing at great significance above the rest. The sleek skyscraper facade has such a beautiful elegance that I find it difficult to look away. There are cranes in every cardinal direction claiming growth to what sort of feels like just a big, small town.  I know the millions of people that pervade the territory profess otherwise but I am cozy here. Content. 

Nothing has been quite as satisfying though as the breath of fresh air I have gotten from seeing my friends. Liz conveniently waited until my arrival to have her baby.  Ashleigh inconveniently waited to move until I got here to help her reorganize her kitchen. Moksha Yoga Center conveniently still has my favorite classes at the same convenient times. My old landlord conveniently never clears out the bike room so I was able to wedge my rusty old Columbia Roadster from its inconvenient parking spot in the basement. And it so happens that there are so many conveniently located bike shops, I was able to just pop in and blow up my deflated tires. Plus, Adrienne's cousin was getting married this week, so she flew into town for a few days from her Caribbean campo. So convenient.

For bikers, Chicago is commuter heaven. Bike lanes decorate most major streets and it is safe to say that cars have a general sense that they exist. Salt Lake streets are much more dangerous. This was brought to my attention the day a bus driver decided to race me down State street and holler remarks to me from his window. I took his challenge and knew how upset he was getting when I kept pedaling though the red lights that he was mandated to stop at. 

The bike I ride here in Chicago though, is in no condition to race (although I am still attempting to out-speed buses down Halsted). It is literally made up of three solid steel beams, two wheels, and a black seat with rusted over springs, one single gear and finger grips. Of course there are no shocks, so when I roll over a curb or go over a speed bump, my shoulders and knees usually take the assault. The fenders that protect me from getting wet and dirty on rainy days are holding onto dear life by one stripped screw, which the bike mechanic told me were in too desperate of a condition to even remove. He said it was a lost cause. The noise that generates from my ride is pretty offensive to the ear. I get awkward looks from other bikers who glide past me with their lubricated chains and handlebar brakes. Most people say that my bike would be better off in a junkyard than plaguing the world of traffic and pedestrians, but I would rather start eating mayonnaise than get rid of this incredible source of transport.  I actually think that it is my favorite thing to do these days, biking from one location to another...most particularly on warm nights when the city lights are gleaming and the streets are bare. I am starting to master the ability of text message while dodging on-coming traffic and potholes, while listening to my iPod...without my glasses on...in the dark!. Did any of you know that I was so talented?

At this exact time last year, I recall it being uncomfortably hot. I never wanted to splurge on air conditioning as I think they can often be a waste of electricity, so instead, I put myself through the hottest living conditions known to mankind. Temperatures surpassed the hundreds and I think I only fell asleep a few times in August. This summer, I am happy to report perfect weather. It hasn't been too hot and there has only been one tornado. I have yet to go to a movie theater and stay all day in fear that if I were to walk outside, I might get heatstroke. I did though jump into the lake which could haunt me in the years to come. There was a slimy substance sourcing from an undetermined place. Oil perhaps from the hundreds of boats? Fecal matter from the thousands of people? I sure hope these strange skin blisters pass. 

Now, it could be the fact that everyday is a Saturday (when you are jobless), but I think my love for Chicago is stemming in something different. When I walked into Northwestern to visit old co-workers, the welcome I received was unbelievable. I sat and watched the craziness of that unit with mere awe that these are quite possibly the hardest working people I know. Catching up with people here and there just reinforces that you can take the girl out of the city (for a while) but you can never take the city out of the girl. 

Each conversation I have, as my time here comes to a standstill, consists of some tricky conspiracy to make me stay. Why would you leave here, again, when you know you love it? Why waste all that precious time making NEW friends, when the old ones you have here are functioning quite well? And why don't you think it is a huge mistake to move when you don't have a job?

It is hard to argue as they are all very valid comments. Today's word of the day just so happens to be omphalus. (Try to use it in a sentence at least once.) For all you Greek scholars out there, you clearly know that this word means central point; or navel; or Hub.  Chicago is quite obviously my omphalus . The sparkle in my eye shines its brightest while I am here so I am pretty sure that one day, I will move back. I will plan to have a family here in the omphalus. Perhaps we will be a traveling family, spending a few months here, then a few months there...as I like to do. My children might even consider Chicago their omphalus as is such a great place to be proud of. The best part is the ompahlaus will always be here so there is no hurry. I think the omphalus can a wait a few more years, and then accept me back into her warm, ever growing concrete embrace.

Friday marks the day I flee from the Hub and head to New York. For those who didn't know, I decided to save a life in San Francisco for when they really think the earthquake may knock California from the mainland. That way, I can solidify disaster, which would only support my rationale to move to back the omphalus.

 I am looking quite forward to the big move...while I simultaneously look quite forward to finding a job. I know I have said that a job as a nurse, is like shooting a fish in a barrel, but this is where I put my foot directly into my mouth because, for my picky taste, I am having a surprisingly challenging time. I will let you all know when the true worry has set in, but for now, I think I may just be care-free. The sun here in the ompahlus is starting to peek through so I better stop being inside and take full advantage of my last fleeing days.