I'm roaming, folks. It's the nature of my job and sometimes what I do. Let's talk about it today, because from the sound of it some of us are getting frustrated and downright mean.
This is the town I'm currently working in. Kid you not. It doesn't matter, really, where it is or where I stay, and I prefer to afford myself a bit of privacy, you understand, since you never really know who's reading. I will tell you the town has nine streets, a closed-up bank, a little white church, a saloon, a saddle maker, a post office, an abandoned salon, a cafe and a courthouse. That's where I visit most... the courthouse.
In my day job, I'm in the oil and gas business. I'll spare you the details of my job description, but suffice to say that oil companies hire me to go into areas they want to drill new oil or gas wells. It's my duty to find out who owns the land, and more importantly - the minerals underneath - and get everything ready, legally, for the company to move a drilling rig on site and drill for oil. Or gas. Whatever it is they suspect they'll hit.
This job found me. Really. I never thought I'd be doing this sort of work. I'd wanted to be the next old-school reporter/anchor... you know, the Walter or Peter or Dan who braved the front lines and retired, all crusty and bitter, to a news desk somewhere. My plans changed for me one Tuesday in 2004; I was packed up and moved to a little town in east Texas, where my mother's sister lived, by Friday. I didn't work... at all... for a few months. Then I got a call explaining this oil and gas job and asking, would I be interested? I was, and I'm glad.
This business is tricky at times and competitive at all times. The days are long and demanding and I do a lot of driving and stressing. My cell phone roams constantly and doesn't work a lot out here -perhaps you can see why- and I go without internet for days at a time sometimes. It's not that I'm avoiding calls or skipping out on my blogging friends. It's just that on the road I'm more likely to miss messages, not get voice mails, or not have an internet network. And as my dear, sweet friend Sondra says, the church won't take up love offerings to pay a single woman's way. So here I am.
These jobs last anywhere from a few weeks to a few years, depending on how much oil and gas they happen upon. I was told yesterday that this will, in fact, be a quick project. I suspected as much going in, and was glad to hear it. But I like to work these projects and I like the distance and privacy these jobs afford to write, when I can, and work on the book. And sight see. Although that doesn't take long up here.
Short of going into a full on, Alica Paulson-esque Why I Blog, I wanted to say that I adore blogging for many reasons, and delight in the opportunity we all have to meet here and say what we like, when we like. I get to my blog when I can with what I can, but certainly assume no further obligation or indebtedness to this forum than that. Blogs are meant to be enjoyable. To tickle us and educate us and inspire us. Blogs are not supposed to morph... nor must they be allowed to... into another job. Lord knows we have enough of that already. Well, here... Alicia said it best: All of us want, I think, to be able to respond to everyone's comments and questions, to check-in on our friends, to give help and advice when its needed. But the reality is that there is only so much time in a day — especially at this time of year — and only so many . . . relationships . . . one can do well. The nagging feeling that certain things, people, and opportunities have fallen through the cracks can be frustrating but . . . inevitable? I made a promise to myself early on in blogging that I would give what I could, when I could, because the important thing was to find a way to keep doing it — happily, without it feeling like a burden or another bundle of expectations to be dealt with.
I know you understand. I know you do. And I know that you know that I know that magical ties do pin our hearts to home, and although we may roam, our footsteps will land us home again soon enough. After the oil dries up and the words stop flowing. After the adventure is over....
Thanks for hanging in.