Well, I guess this is it. I am sitting here among the wreckage that was my home for the past year. I’m typing on my new work computer on top of a makeshift Rubbermaid table that is full of Star Wars toys that are for sale on eBay, sitting on an inn-table and wondering why the sun wont go down faster and why tomorrow doesn’t just happen. The thing is, nothing ‘just happens’ and try and wish as I may, the time must be spent, the work must be done and the life must be lived, because all things will happen when they need to.
I’m closing out a chapter of my life that was both great and horrible at the same time. I will always smile when I think back as this the year that I lost 65 lbs without sacrificing a leg. I will remember this as the year that I was truly honest and happy with someone for 11 months, despite the frustrations brought on by distance and despite knowing that I munged it up like a champion. It was a year without driving, without donuts, without workplace stress and without television. It was a year with the gym, with a growing collection of headbands – shoes – books, with almond butter and dried mango, with late night phone calls and early morning text messages just to say ‘good night’ or ‘good morning’. With hobbies that were bought on just to pass the time a bit, with books that were meant to slow down the time a bit. A year of discovering that it’s ok to write about my feelings and to take pictures of the sky.
It was also a year of unbearable humidity and constant sweating. A year of feeling like an outsider everywhere I went, getting laughed at for not wanting to be a Texan, fighting with people who thought laziness was their right after being employed and stuck in the same job for thirty years or more. It was two horribly painful months of heartbreak, of nights spent crying and staring into the night sky wondering why I’m a fool, of holding on to a thought, a dream and even a promise.
So in two days, I will strap on the razor-blade cow catcher and plow the newly shined Pathfinder through this city for the last time. Do not get in my way, or you will be crushed and spit out the back as 50/50 ground beef. I am on my way home. I am on my way to see trees that are losing their leaves, to see the Flint Hills, to see clear skies, friends that I never should have left and family that will be happy to see me. This is your warning: change the locks, hide your children and chain up your pets because papa’s coming home.