Maybe this is called On Leaving
or Agreeing that Ah Shake Heartbreak was the Peak
I don’t know quite yet, but that’s ok. Because it’s ok not to know at first. Of the very few things I know, I know that now.
I tore off the band-aid and left home at 19. But I tore it off slow because I was afraid of the pain and that made it hurt all the more. I could have a thousand cuts and use a thousand band-aids in my life, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be brave enough to tear it in one clean rip.
But it’s not bravery, is it? It’s just life. Some of us peel, some of us rip, and some of us grab a third Pork Slap from the fridge before they keep writing.
I fly back to California tomorrow. Back home. Back to two parents, two brothers, a dog and central air. Back to cul-de-sacs and rolling hills and mildly depressed twenty somethings who got a really great job in teaching/tech/healthcare management and also got this great patio set at Costco that I’d really love to show you.
Maybe I’ll get a job at the outlet mall. Or, like, the regular mall. I could front and tell you that I’ll be freelancing full time, but I took enough fourth grade field trips to gold rush ghost towns to know that facades don’t mean shit. Just like that reference won’t mean shit to 99% of the people reading this.
I’ve termed this my ‘radical sabbatical’ but catchy titles aside I’m really just taking the maximum time allotted by my university for ‘independent study breaks’ and putting it towards naps and jogging and lounging on the sofa with my immediate family. This is not a time that I am dedicating to ‘discovering myself’, which a few years ago I’m sure I would have built it up to be. Since the last time I was home I’ve lived in Italy > Richmond > NYC and along the way I’ve learned some things about myself and the strange scents that dense urban populations can produce. Like, sometimes you meet Beyonce at a work function and then you have to take the train back to your shitty Bed Stuy apartment and it’s snowing so the train is delayed and you drank too much, because, Beyoncé, and you end up having to get off the train and pee on a abandoned train platform and wait for the next train and as you’re sitting on the bench shivering and looking out the snow is whiter than it will ever be again and you realize it’s ok. You’re ok. You’re ok and peeing on a train platform is ok.
I’m in CA for 5 months. August September October November December. Then it’s back to Richmond, and friends, and that cranny in the nook of the wall where I built myself a little nest and I let myself shit in that nest a little bit but I know better now. These metaphors are getting out of hand, but the beer is cheap and I have to finish it by morning so all I can do is shrug and smirk and you’ll have to take my word for it.
This, as always, isn’t really a post about anything. But when something is nothing, it can really be anything. Just ask Jerry.