:: The Blurst of Times ::

:: 7.31.2003 ::

It's sick to say, but sometimes it feels good to not be the only one who is love-lorn. I'm never glad to hear of someone else's suffering, but it puts things into perspective when you hear about someone else who is struggling with issues of girls, boys, marriage, "comfort zones," dates, long-distance, relationships, and the inevitable "I'm off to [way-the-fuck-away], hope things are sane when I return." To everyone who can't seem to understand how what she is saying relates to how she is acting - stay strong, hang in there, be patient and she will come around (or she'll get the fuck away and someone better will come along). To everyone who wants the answers, wants to know for sure, wants to make the 'right' decision - have faith and hope, and know that time will make everything clear. These people and their problems have put my issues into perspective and for this I thank them.

On to greater news: I am leaving Tacoma tonight. I will drive out of town and not return for 72 hours. For the last 6 weeks I have blamed Tacoma for dragging me down, for stifling me, for sucking the life out of me, and crushing my spirit. I have blamed a lack of familiarity, a lack of friends and family, a lack of entertainment for these lingering woes. In an hour I will shave my face, shower, and allow this to be an allegorical cleansing. I will wash away everything that I have built up inside me. I won't think about her. I will stop wondering about her, if she's happy, what she's doing, who she's with... I will stop. There is nothing to remind me of her on the airplane. I have my book, my gum, my hat, all things that have nothing to do with her. There is nothing to remind me of her on the East Coast. I will be 2500 miles removed from this girl, this town, this situation, and I refuse to look back. For 72 hours I will be on a drug called "Not Here" and it is going to take me away. I will meet new people, have new memories, drink new drinks and taste new foods - I will speak of the unconstitutional war of northern aggression and I will wait anxiously for hurricanes. No fine southern bloodhound will smell the Tacoma Aroma on me. The furrows on my forehead will gradually space themselves out and be replaced by the tiny wrinkles in the corners of my eyes. I will seize opportunity this weekend - it is mine to be won. I have waited for this for six months, partially with no idea what I was really waiting for... and now the hour draws near that I will turn my back on the snow-capped Mount Rainier and will speed forward through time to a different land, across three mountain ranges and in the salt-spray of another ocean. This weekend is mine and nothing (no one) will stop me from celebrating.

"Wings, don't fail me now..."
:: Freddy F. at 11:31 PM [+] ::