Movin' On

Oh, yeah
Gonna let the cold water
Wash it all away to nada
Yeah
Gonna get my heart clean
Gonna let it sing
And in the morning I’ll be feelin’ alright
Gonna get baptized by Texas tonight
--Lost Immigrants, “Baptized by Texas”

D-minus 5.

Monday.

Texas gave me one, last (I hope) fuck you today.  It came in the form of a giant hole in the sidewall of my right rear tire.  OEM Michelins for a 2010 Mazda 6 come it at $200 apiece.  That’s a bit of trivia that I wished I didn’t have.

It’s been a flurry of activity the last couple weeks.  There are addresses to change, services to cancel, plans to make.  Things to do.

There are friends to say goodbye to.

There are places to see one last time.

This is harder than I thought.

I didn’t want to come here.  I didn’t want to stay.

Now a part of me doesn’t want to leave.  I suppose that’s the way it always goes, though.  It’s easier to see the good in something when you don’t have to worry about the bad any more.

And there’s all kinds of bad.  But it’s not worth focusing on anymore.

I left you in the morning
Still drunk on melodrama
You’re so pretty, so natural
But I had to salvage honor
--Lucky Boys Confusion, “South Union”

I used to think the key to leaving was bitterness.  I makes a certain amount of sense.  If you never remember the good and only focus on the bad you’ll never want to go back.  It will never matter.

Now?  Not so much.  Nothing can be all bad, even those things that aren’t particularly good.  And things that weren’t particularly good are self-evidently in need of an end.  So, in the end, it’s okay to remember the good even when knowing the bad.

And that’s the thing about Dallas.  There was plenty of good.  There’s still plenty of good.  There’s plenty of potential good.  But there was enough bad that I woke up angry nearly every morning and went to bed angry most nights.  There was enough bad that I knew I could never make a home here.

I’m tired of being angry.

I’m ready to make a home.

I need Chicago for the latter.  At the very least I need less Dallas for the former.

See, that’s the thing.  I recently hit thirty.  It’s, in general, a meaningless milestone.  It’s just a number on a page somewhere.  I didn’t think it meant anything, really.  I didn’t want it to mean anything.

But it does mean something.  Thirty is that dividing line between pretending to be a kid and pretending to be an adult.  I want to pretend to be an adult for a while.  I want to see if, in pretending, I’ll eventually figure it out.  I’m tired of throwing my money down the drain in rent every month.  I want a house.  I’m tired of going on shitty first dates with crazy women and never wanting to see them again.  I want to meet someone who matters.

I can’t seem to do that here.

I couldn’t do it in Chicago the last time around, either.  But then I didn’t want to.  I wanted to hide in my own guilt, my own anger, my own…foolishness, I guess.

My goal now, though, is to do something different.  My goal is to do all those things I was afraid to do at twenty, at twenty-five, at twenty-eight.  Dallas gave me a chance to hide.  It cost me nothing to come down here and gave me a ready-made excuse to keep hiding.

I’m actually freaking out about this move.  I’m not accustomed to saying, “This is what I want and this is what I’ll do to make it happen,” after all.  I’m more accustomed to saying, “This is what I want and I hope maybe, someday, it will happen.”

This is what I want.  This is what I made happen.

I’m paying my own way back.

I have to make it worth my time.

And that’s scary as scary can be.

Out in the Badlands
Trying to scratch a living any way I can
I’m thinking of you, girl
Wondering why
You feel the south winds
Blowing through your bones again
Lord, it’s the stinging that reminds you you’re alive
--Lost Immigrants, “Waiting on Judgment Day”

I’m tired of waiting.

I’m tired of making excuses.

Moving back to Chicago is step one.  But it’s only step one.

I’ve got a shitload more work to do. I’ve got a lot of things I want to do.  I’ve got a lot of things I’ve been afraid to do.

D-minus five.

Everything changes next week.

Everything started to change last month.  All it took was me saying, “This is what I want, and this is what I’m going to do.”

Comments

[Michael Mock, who is pleased to gift himself with an absurdly long title once again]

So, how did Daisy take the move? (Feel free to answer with cute dog photos, please.)