Mark Doty, metaphor, and shameless imitation

After I read this post, I decided that if I were standing in an airport in Illinois, waiting to get on a flight to Oregon, I would say the bird wants to go home. But, I think, if I were in Oregon waiting to fly to the Midwest, I would say the same thing. What have I done to myself? I now have two places I will always consider home. I may also say the bird wants to get out and build a nest, if she ever makes her way to the other side of the glass.

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Before falling asleep last night, Longitude asked me why I was having a sad day. I said that I feel like I’m floundering. We then had a long discussion about it, using a fish-out-of-water metaphor. I feel like I’m a fish flopping on a sidewalk, a few feet away from a murky creek of runoff water in a residential neighborhood. I’m hoping that I will flop my way to the creek, which leads to a nicer creek, which leads to a river where it’s easier to breathe, which leads to the wide ocean. I don’t know how to get to the ocean, or even where it is, so as soon as I find water I’ll just swim downstream.

A few months ago, I had talked to a nurse recruiter about a hospice nurse job. After talking with him, the one I was applying for did not seem to be a good fit. He described another one that sounded perfect, but was sorry to say that they only get openings for it once or twice a year. I never expected to hear from him again. Last night, he sent an email saying that he would like for me to apply before they put an ad in the paper. I’m calling him today. Swimming downstream.