I'm moving out soon. The days grind by slowly of course, but I've never been one to count down. It feels like eons since I've lived on my own, and I'm anxious to resume my habits of napping through meals I'm too lazy to make, and smoking away Sunday afternoons while watching TV, and beating a hand drum at midnight for no reason whatsoever; all in the name of independence and merry irresponsibility.
But what I'm really looking forward to is picking up where I left off. It's like I pushed "pause"; I've lived for almost two years in a Temporary State and it would seem purgatory really is worse than Hell. To continue the Biblical allusions: I'm like those people awaiting the Rapture, living in a world of pragmatic and blindingly-optimistic paucity. I think so much about the future, I only process the here and now. It's strange how a long transition can strip your life of purpose. But perhaps no more strange than how a change of address can bring you back to life.
Soon I will no longer be a clock-watcher tethered to train schedules, nor forced to retreat nightly to my twin bed in the suburbs. I'm happy to quit enduring, and start... well, something.It's about time. Perhaps I should start counting.
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