Some of you may have noticed on my microblogstream (Twitter, Jaiku, etc.), a few posts about getting in touch with my high school sweetheart again. It was very random and ironic since the night before I happened to be doing a typical guy-thing by Googling ex-girlfriends. Although, I evolved my technique that night by moving from Google to Facebook. Lo’ and behold, there I found my girlfriend and, really, my best friend from high school. I looked at her picture, and the fact that she had a new last name (cringe!), and decided not to send her a friend request. She partially represented my past on the east coast (where I once again live). It is a past I have large, bad memories of. Not that my childhood was particularly rough, it was just something I was really quite happy to move on from.

Seeing all of these familiar sites, living in New York, is very surreal. I was excited at first–seeing my first A&P supermarket in about two decades was a strange thrill. Passing the sign pointing to the mall I was a rat in brought warm waves of nostalgia to my heart. For some reason, though, when I got to Manhattan-proper, those waves of nostalgia were replaced with much more negative feelings. It felt like regression, now–like I was “falling” back, instead of simply making a mature, adult choice to move with my wife to the Big Apple so she could pursue a career on Broadway.

The negative feelings got worse when I realized I’d likely have to take a dayjob I really didn’t want to take. I remember, when I was in high school, my step-dad was out of work for a while. I couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just get a job someplace. I understand now a bit more of what he was going through. I’m not an old man (and neither was he), but I do feel like I shouldn’t be doing certain types of jobs at my age–like retail–like temping–like anything entry-level. So, this added insult to injury.

Then throw in CRAZY heat and CRAZIER humidity (and us not having an air conditioner), a landlord who decided the first 6 months we paid up front would cover the last 6 months instead (eventually we worked it out), on top of being in a huge, unfamiliar city (along with a few other things I won’t even go into) and you’ve got a recipe for one depressed ThePete.

Then, there she was–looking a bit older, but still beautiful–not too different from the way I remembered her.
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