I woke up this morning with the biggest reality hangover. I am no longer in Greece. I am not even in London. I am in my tiny, constricting childhood bedroom in Johnston, Rhode Island. It is 6 a.m. and my dad can be heard quietly getting ready for work and his pre-work daily church visit. My mom is still snoring, but within minutes will be up fluttering around the house, cleaning things that are not dirty, making my waking hours miserable. I dont think living at home has ever been worse. Its a combination of things, really. First off, I havent lived at home in... years. Secondly, Ive just returned from the most free, independent living situation ever. And Im acutely aware at all times that I should still be in this situation, if it were not for overzealous customs officials and possibly Fate, who has a sick sense of humor. In addition to this, I believe my mother has gotten more anal, if this is in fact possible. This is a woman who rushes over to the kitchen sink after you have used it so she can wipe it dry; its stainless steel and must be preserved so it maintains its gleam, see. No sooner had I set foot off the bus and hopped into her car than she was matter-of-factly informing me that I am not allowed to leave the house unless my room is immaculately clean. And there has already been an inspection. An INSPECTION! I was home a total of two days before I had to escape to western Massachusetts to visit my old stomping grounds. Before I left, my mom came into my room and almost had a heart attack when she saw the disarray of my SHOES in the CLOSET. Apparently, each pair should be lined up perfectly and symmetrically. Youve got to be kidding. No. When I returned last night I discovered she hadnt stopped there. After I left, she came in my room and rearranged things. She even took the bath towel I had draped over the door handle for drying and quick access and hung it in the closet, on a hanger, like a nice pair of trousers. Ack! My reality hangover is especially horrid because I fell asleep last night after spending hours getting gloriously giddy looking at trip photos and giving them silly captions. (These photos are, incidentally, online and ready for your perusal at two locations: http://photos.yahoo.com/dahling007 under the album labelled sinister - also includes previous sini photos, so forgive me if youve seen em. Or www.geocities.com/dahling007/photos10.htm has silly captions, but may take awhile to load and sometimes is down I got a little tear in my eye seeing Kens graceful bowling release and Nicks hip-swaying Elvis karaoke number. Dont fret. I dont intend to make this an enormous trip wrap-up reporting back post like last time I was in the UK. Because now that I am back in the land of isolated listees with no picnic potentials, I can again sympathize with the jealousy and misery these posts can produce. Suffice it to say, I had a fantastic time and met loads of wonderful people who have truly become my friends. And I miss them terribly. It was especially nice because it was a UK visit I was not exactly planning. I had eight days to pack all my things and reassemble my life after learning I was being forced to leave Greece. So each activity was unexpected and none disappointed. Karaoke, bowling, ice skating, beach huddles, arcade games and lots and lots of drinking - all did wonders taking my mind off the not-so-pleasant realities of my situation. But of course, now I can no longer avoid them. I managed to, for the weekend. I talked my mom into letting me borrow my dads brand new car - even though I am not insured and havent been behind the wheel for 10 months; quite a feat, eh? - and sped away to Northampton. Seeing old work colleagues and sources was more gratifying than I thought possible. No one was expecting to see me. They were all shocked. And thrilled! People jumped out of their seats and ran up to hug me. I was pulled in every which way; everyone wanted to hear what had happened to me. I felt so loved. Really. It was touching. I went to the police station and courthouse, where I had spent so much time hobnobbing with cops and criminals alike, and was met with a similar reception. I almost cried. We like to think the relationships we make on the job are real ones, but are often disappointed to learn that they disintegrate almost as soon as we leave. But this was not the case at all. Even the waitress at the lunch place across the street remembered my order. Also awaiting me at the newspaper was a letter from a man who had been the subject of an article I had written shortly before leaving. He was a brain injury patient who had been struggling for five years to leave a rehabilitation center where he had been placed for a temporary visit. All he wanted was to come home. But the government wouldnt let him. It was a sad story, because the guy had so much hope, and I had to dash it all by contacting the government and finding out he had absolutely no chance of ever getting out. Well, turns out my article changed that. Apparently, some senator read the thing and got so upset he advocated on this guys behalf, and he has now been released. He wrote my editor, saying: It is recommended that Stacey Shackford receives a substantial raise in pay. She did a wonderful job writing a story about my struggles with the state. It worked and Ill be moving to Pittsfield. Im a happy man. Thank you, Stacey. Aww! There is no greater reward than that, really. The short trip did wonders cheering me up about being back home. I saw old friends, went to our old bar and laughed until my sides hurt as a sports boy with an overpowering Boston accent ranted about how hed rather have sex with chicken than a man. I went ice skating, shopping and gossiping with a girlfriend. I had breakfast at an authentic sugar shack, where my pancakes were smothered with maple syrup ladled directly out of the cauldron boiling with sap dripping in from the trees. I had coffee with my favorite professor and idol, who gushed over me and suggested we collaborate for an article on comparative media ethics for an academic journal. (I also had a mini Sinister meet-up, with the lovely Andreea, and spent nearly three hours talking non-stop about the bunch of you! Ha.) And then I returned here. And what awaits me but a week that promises to be full of stress and anxiety as I do laundry, run errands, begin the job and loan search and try not to kill my parents. Sigh. I guess I shouldnt complain too terribly because at least there is an end in sight. In August, I shall be returning to Glasgow, and there I will stay for at least a year. I will be reunited with all my wonderful new friends. I will once again be free. But until then.. oh, it will be torture. And motivation to get my ass in gear and make sure it all happens. Oh yes. Anyway.. thats about it on this front. Thanks to everyone who was so spectacularly supportive during my difficult time. And to those who entertained me/put up with me while I was in Sinisterland. Huge hugs and kisses and ghetto shout-outs to yall. MWAH! ~dahling ps: I seem to remember Ms. Kara Jean putting a call out for any Boston-area listees who might fancy a pre-show meet-up. Im not sure if theres been a response (I havent actually read the list in a month, admittedly) but there should be! Im game. And theres a UMass-Dartmouth boy who better be getting his ass there as well. And I bet there are more. Anyway.. if Kara Jean hasnt volunteered her services as picnic mummy, I will. pps: apologies to all those to whom I owe email. eventually. _________________________________________________________________ Send and receive Hotmail on your mobile device: http://mobile.msn.com +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+