call the waaambulance, i have a waaamburger and some french cries.

"Reality" TV shows about New Jersey are all the rage right now. Of course there is the phenomenon of Jersey Shore, there's Cake Boss about some mafioso-esque bakers, and today (while indulging in some joyfully mindless America's Next Top Model reruns) I kept seeing commercials for Jersey Couture, which looks simply terrible.

Of course, anyone who knows anything about New Jersey knows that the only real "reality" show about NJ is not reality at all, but is in fact The Sopranos. But I digress.

For real, though, I am a bit notorious in Santa Fe for being New Jersey's most rabid fan. I love this state. I loved growing up in this state. I still call New Jersey "home." It's the best state in the union. America's best-kept secret. All those things.

So why is it so hard to be here?

I'm not talking the whole "oh gosh gee I actually got more used to Santa Fe than I thought!" or anything like that. (Though, the first night that I arrived home, I was following my dad to a diner and went to land a high-speed merge that I grew up with... and nearly got run off an overpass, slammed my car into the curb and ended up stopped dead in traffic for a minute or so. NJ driving fail... I bet they were all glaring at my New Mexico plates while they edged their Beemers around me.) This is a different kind of hard.

A while ago, I accepted that nothing happens by accident and that there is a reason for everything that has gone "wrong" in my life. When Patrick had to go back to Tennessee and call off our road trip, I was upset, sure - but I knew that there was a reason it was happening. I knew it would show itself in time.

I resolved to come home here to New Jersey for a while in order to relax, be unemployed, do some writing, relax, sleep, relax and relax. I was looking forward to it.

So why is it that I applied for four jobs tonight?

We are each the architect of our own destiny, but I can't seem to get my buildings to look like the blueprints. I wanted to live in the moment and be introspective, but all I can do is think about the future and the outward influences that will shape my next move. I wanted to take it easy, but I'm getting swept back into the current of being the stressball that I have been for the last forever-many-years. I have spent 10 years trying to lose weight and resolved to do so this summer (my excuse was always, "I'm too tired after work to go to the gym!"... well, what about when I don't have work?), but my grand kick-off has been foiled by a broken toe and, if the last decade is any indication, this time around may not go so well. It's hard to stay positive when you've been dealing with it for almost half your life.

So here I am. I'm not hungry, but I want to eat. I don't want to work, but I am applying for jobs. I want to take time to figure out what I am doing next, but I already have my heart set on moving to Knoxville. I want to travel a bit more and see a few more friends this summer, but I don't want to even begin to think about where the money to do so would come from. I just want to go to sleep, but I'm writing a stupid blog entry.

Maybe that's an indication that I should shut the hell up and go to bed.

It rained all day today - rain like I haven't seen in years. I missed rain. I missed water. I should go see the ocean. I should let the faucet run and not worry about it.

Unexpected realization about unemployment #2

I thought I would take a short break from pictures to share with you another fascinating musing about the life of the jobless.

When I am unemployed, my dog is a better dog.

My pit bull, Blake, is a bit of a neurotic creature. I adopted him at about 10 months old (he is now about 6 years old) from the animal shelter, and since I've had him he's always had separation anxiety issues, and when he was about 2 to 4 years old he developed dog aggression (which is rooted in anxiety). So, in short, he's a bit of a handful. Don't get me wrong - he's pretty much the best dog in history and I wouldn't trade him for the world. But he can be difficult.

Blake, in addition to being neurotic and too smart for his own good, has also always been very tuned-in to my emotions. When I'm stressed, he's stressed. When I'm relaxed, he's relaxed. He usually has his worst "episodes" (whether it's biting another dog, which he hasn't done - for lack of opportunity - in nearly 2 years, or whether it's destroying the house) when I'm in a stressed-out place in life. When I've switched jobs, had to move, or had a particularly difficult event in life, he's at his worst.

But now that I don't have a job, I'm not worried about anything, I rarely know what day it is and have no need to be anywhere at any particular time, he is like a totally different dog.

When we were at the fishing camp with Pat's dad, Darrell, and his dog Zoe, I thought it was going to be a catastrophe. Zoe is a boxer, and Blake especially dislikes other bully dogs. I kept Blake on leash, but otherwise left him in the car (it's like a giant, luxurious crate, as far as he's concerned). And in all the time that he encountered Zoe, he never once acted aggressively.

Admittedly, his MO is to think he wants to play until he suddenly bites the other dog, and since he never got the chance to go after her, I suppose I don't know whether he would have gone after her or not. But I know my dog well, and he never showed any of the signs he typically shows before he bites. While we were all down at the river, he even stood calmly right next to Zoe, and even tried to lick her face once. I was flabbergasted.

Additionally, when I was loading bags into my car in Statesville, I had to make two trips - and I closed the door mostly over and left Blake in the hotel room while I brought the bags to the car. Usually this would be WAY too much for him; when he's in an unfamiliar place, he needs to see me, if not TOUCH me at all times. But when I came back to the room after about 20, 30 seconds of putting bags in the car, he was still sitting calmly on the bed as if nothing had happened.

When I am calm, he is calm. He has never been this calm. Have I ever been this calm?

Unexpected realization about unemployment #1

I sweat less.

I have always been a sweater. Call me gross, call me Polish, call me whatever you want, but I sweat a lot. As a result, unless I am very careful, I don’t always smell so great. So you can imagine my concern when I learned that, when traveling and camping with Patrick, I wouldn’t be showering every day like I usually do. I wasn’t looking forward to stinking.

But now, I have pretty much no stress. I have nothing I’m worried about. I have nothing to sweat about. I’m not running through the office, trying to get to interviews on time, trying to answer all my emails – I’m not breaking into a cold sweat when I realize I have done something really, really wrong. I just sweat so much less. That’s all there is to it. So not showering isn’t as awful as I thought it was.

I also have much less opportunity to be vain, so that contributes to being okay with not showering too often. There are very few mirrors in camping, and when there is a mirror, it gets only a cursory glance to make sure I still have a reflection before I leave it again. No vampiric qualities? Okay, I’m good.