Hmmmmm. The trip to North Carolina was a mixed nut bag. In early preparation for my move to attend UNCW, I thoughtfully arranged a self guided trip to visit my new city and get acquainted with the different areas of town, etc. All the things that anal people do when they are faced with a situation. (I swear, I am going to be stripped of my title as ‘poet’ when the full extent of my need to be thoroughly organized is finally understood. Have you ever met an organized writer? Perhaps this paranoia of mine comes from having spent the past three years under the most, umm, lax, poet mentor ever.) So, highlights of the trip are below, categorized. (I know, I know!)
The actual drive. . .
Is eight hours! Eight! Most people understand how the freeway works, but let’s face it, some have yet to discover what the passing lane is for. Umm, passing? This problem is most prevalent in the stretch from Chattanooga to Atlanta. Since I drive in Chattanooga every day, I can safely assess that it is the Chattanoogans who have the difficulty with this particular issue. Grrrrrrrr.
Wilmington. . .
Also has some road issues. Like, there are only four main roads that span the entire city. This causes traffic. All the time.
But. . .
It’s Wilmington, and it’s really fantastic! I spent 90% of my time trying to figure out where things are and getting lost. I’ve been lost every way it is possible to be lost. Including the exact second I got off the highway into downtown, where the streets have no name, but highway markers. Very confusing to my sensibilities. After almost nine hours in the car I was ready to find my hotel, take a shower, eat something. As I finally conceded I was lost, utterly, I pulled into the parking lot of some steak joint, and a bird crapped on my front window. A huge crap. We are talking the kind of crap where you know that bird hates you, is aiming, and chuckling as it flies away. I felt very welcomed. It was a moment I considered chucking in everything and running away to live life as a secretary again, dreaming of having James Spader as a boss.
UNCW. . .
Is an amazingly gorgeous campus. I can only imagine when it is packed with students. The most striking thing about it is that it is truly an expansive campus, with charming brick buildings and lustrous lawns everywhere. Trees that drip with leaves, and this sense of earthiness that permeates the air. It is also blessedly flat. Anyone who has trekked Cardiac Hill on the campus in Chattanooga will appreciate this statement. However, it is so large that I am betting one would have to drive to make it from one end of campus to another if they had a class.
MFA folk. . .
Are incredible so far. I say ‘so far’ because when things are this amazing you know there must be a catch. Like, in the second week of the program they’ll introduce their tradition of slaughtering young baby lambs and sticking their heads on poles and dancing in the faculty office while wearing togas made from the torn pages of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass and listening to Barry Manilow. (I’d be fine until the Manilow, of course.)
Disclaimer. . .
Uh, they don’t really do that. I don’t think. And I am a raging vegetarian. I remove spiders from the tubs, and walk over ants. Swear.
Apartments. . .
Do not allow, in any case, for people like me. Doesn’t matter. In fact, forget even trying to rent a house. There is just no possibility within a reasonable budget to find someplace that will accommodate. I actually knew this going in (same problem at current location which is why I had to buy). However, houses are kinda expensive, and I am not really into collecting them, so I suppose I shall have to make do. My mother, the saint, is going to pet-sit for a few years for me. I consider it a good faith payment on her part for when she becomes in need of elderly care. She is merely ensuring that I won’t dump her off at some government run facility that ensures all residents are equipped with a long stick during meal times so they have a fighting chance against the roaches. Damn her.
The beach. . .
Yes, there is a beach. No, I didn’t get to see it. This is likely a good thing since it would have guaranteed another several hours of being lost, trying to find the road back into town. Sigh.
Speaking of fish. . .
According to the phonebook, there are more fish markets than grocery stores. This is a town that has its priorities straight.
Another disclaimer. . .
By ‘raging vegetarian’ I meant I get enraged when people question my ethics on eating fish. I eat fish. It is a difficult thing to explain the depth of thought that goes into my vegetarianism. At times I am a vegan, at others, I eat fish. This is a wholly different post, at a later date. Promise.
Final thoughts. . .
Include the impending homesickness that I will actually feel upon leaving. Nervousness at teaching. (What were they thinking, letting me do that?!?!?) Guilt at the pet situation. Excitement at being truly on my own. Rapture at being able to write so much.
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