There are so many changes. Not even in the tangible, but changes of my mind. My life being stirred up, shaken,
poured back in reserve, boiled down, reduced. My own web site that I have neglected since its birth. Letters to mom. Emails, phone calls, bills.
They all get done eventually, and I am seldom late. But do I really get anywhere?
The alignment tech at work tells me a secret; he may be moving to Florida in a year, to be close to his son when his ex-wife moves there to be with her new beau. He will take his new bride to Florida so he can be near his son. He's 30. Why does he tell me this? Because I'm his friend, he says, because he can trust me. Because I have dreams of leaving too.
But my dreams are unfounded. I don't have any concrete reason other than the fact that I don't believe I should have ever been here. I don't know where to start, where to begin when the beginning was not under my control.
Do I move for love or for myself, for God or for just something to do? Or do I do it for all those reasons and just do it? When all I know is that I don't want to grow old and die in New Orleans, that leaves WAY too many open windows.
I could suffocate from all that fresh air.