this is for my people

Okay kids, in case you're not sure what to do with your weekend, here's a motivational message. Have a good one.

i got nothin'

There is really nothing to say about this.

where it's at

This made me feel both very, very happy and very, very sad. It also made me feel small and self-absorbed. I should be making lonely people happy with balloons. I should have hugged my Grandparents more.

stoic freakout party

I guess it's highly unlikely that anyone reading this doesn't already know that I am moving back to my hometown in Florida on Tuesday, but I figured I should mention it just in case. Maybe I've recently acquired some new fans. Maybe I live in Fantasyland.

Speaking of living in Fantasyland.... My usual method for coping with stress is to simply refuse to acknowledge whatever it is that's freaking me out until it magically goes away on its own. This works more often than you'd think. This time, though, it's essentially impossible, because I'm freaked out over something that I decided to do, and which I am actively participating in right now. I mean, if I decided to ignore the fact that I'm moving until it went away, then I wouldn't have moved at all. So instead, I've thrown myself into some sort of weird fugue-like state by sequestering myself in my apartment, sleeping at odd hours (and hardly at all), and taking long breaks from packing during which I: a) obsessively check my e-mail, myspace account, and a handful of selected blogs, looking for updates, and: b) spend inordinately long stretches of time in the lonely hours of the morning playing cutesy puzzle-type computer games which were obviously intended for those in the 10-12 year age range. Also, at one point yesterday morning I found myself captivated by this mesmerizing e-card (thanks a lot, Jesse); only when I finally tore my eyeballs from the screen to look at the clock did I realize that there was a problem: I'd been watching it over and over and over for a full thirty-five minutes. No shit. I don't know if it's the creepy hypnotic voice repeating "I LIIIKE YOU" over and over or the pulsing tropical dance rhythm, or what, but - look, I'm watching it again right now - I think this card was designed to lure the weak-minded (like myself) into its expectation-free jungle utopia, and keep us there indefinitely. "No more, no less." I dig it.

My conscience is nagging me to finish packing, already, so I can get down to the business of enjoying my last few days in New York, but I'm finding it difficult for reasons I can't quite articulate. Oh, well. The jig is up tomorrow anyway; N.Eck has some farewell fun lined up, and I know I'm bound to have a good time whether my emotionally crippled inner asshole likes it or not. Then Monday night I say "goodbye for now" to my dynamite old pals PK, Jenny, Chuck, and The Mac.

Okay, back to packing, cleaning, and the real world.

you can't take it with you

I can't believe I am giving this up.




(thanks JF)

...to the place where i belong?

Anyone who talks to me on a regular basis is well aware that I've been having an existential crisis as of late, mainly with regard to the fact that, at the ripe old age of thirty, I'm still treading water professionally. (How's that for a euphemism?) Fact is, I've got only a handful of college credits and a spotty resume full of short-term jobs ranging from "vacuum cleaner sales" (yeah, there are some stories there) to "business owner" to "architectural estimator" and finally, "bartender." It's been fun, but I can't live like this anymore. I'm stuck, and it's -- to say the least -- uncomfortable. What to do? The simplest answer is, I've got to go back to school. Now.

In the year and a half I've spent in New York, the only thing I've accomplished is becoming even more poor than I was when I moved there. Living in New York City is both exhilirating and exhausting; while there's no place I'd rather be, I've realized that I may have to ditch The City -- at least temporarily -- for someplace where the rents are low and the commutes short, if I intend to maintain full schedules in both school and work. So. . . I'm seriously considering moving back to Florida for at least the next couple of years.

This scares the living shit out of me. It feels even more frightening than my spur-of-the-moment move TO New York, when I got on a plane with two suitcases, a pocketful of cash, and no fucking idea what I was going to do when I arrived. What's so scary is that I know exactly what I'm getting myself into if I decide to return to my hometown, and frankly, I'm not sure how I'll handle it. Remember "Cheers"? Well, this is a whole TOWN where everybody knows your name. And just about everything else about you, your family, and anyone you've ever dated. Walking into a bar after a two-year absence and having the bartender pour my usual drink before I have to ask for it, while laughingly recounting the time I constructed the pyrotechnic "party hats" for my entourage. . . well, somehow the familiarity didn't give me a warm fuzzy feeling. More like a cold creepy one.

Am I just a chicken? Does it matter? I'm starting to feel that coming home is the wisest choice.

I'm -- ahem -- unmoored. Fuck.

Stay tuned.