I just figured it out. Why I had a full body rejection of “no no no no they can’t close the refinery why why why crap” when I found out I am going to be jobless in 50 more days.
I don’t want to move.
Again.
I feel the again part is key. I move. Or, to be correct; I have moved.
I was just texting a friend who moved to Canada yesterday. Moved. To. Canada. Who the crap moves to Canada? Well, 2 of my close people, that’s who.
Anyway, he had pretty much been on the island his whole life; same with the other guy. I told him to enjoy that “start over” feeling; it is freeing as hell.
Then I thought, oh yeah. I don’t want to start over again. It takes 2 years. Every time I move it takes me 2 years to make friends, become accepted for being the weird person I am at whatever job I am doing, and just to feel part of the world around me rather than an interested observer. Two. Damn. Years.
At 13, I moved to England.
At 15 I was finally happy.
At 17 I moved to Ohio.
At 18 I went off to college
At 20 I was happy again–secure.
At 24 I moved to southern Illinois.
At 26 I had started to settle and make friends.
At 27 I moved to Chicago.
At 30 I was secure in job and settled.
At 31 I moved to St. Croix.
At 34 I am settled, happy, comfortable and the damn refinery decides to close.

So, the last 20 years. Too much moving.
I’m pooped.
Now, if the world implodes I understand I will have to move. I will do it and be okay.
Just knowing I have at least 2 years after I get somewhere else is just freaking exhausting.
So I’m going to bed. 🙂
Goodnight y’all.
H.