I am typing in an Internet Cafe, and I'm thinking many different things about this semi-regular activity. I think about the four block walk from my third floor apartment on Barry and Kenmore in Chicago, Illinois. I think about the coffee shop across the street, the one at which I frequently do damage to my heart and my liver by consuming entirely too many caffeinated beverages. I think about the entire neighborhood I live in - Lakeview - and the ones that surround it - Wrigleyville, Lincoln Park, Gold Coast, Wicker Park, etc., et al - and I think about how time and age can really fuck everything up.
I'm also thinking about my 9:55 flight to Kansas City, and my 12:45 appointment with a realtor in that fair MIZU town. It is "Mizu," right? At least phonetically?
And I think about ways that I can justify this potential move to a city I've never desired to visit, much less live. I think: money. I think: goodbye, debt. I think: new PowerBook G4. I think: change. And I suppose, in the back of this head that sits on the neck whose glands are swollen due to sleepless nights and oft-changing weather conditions, I think: excitement. There's some excitement there, or at least some curiosity that's been blinded by all the doubt and the apprehension and the sadness I will ineveitably feel for months and months as a result of leaving my family. Again.
But I'm moving, baby, and there's nothing I can do about it now. Except, perhaps, a heart attack. A heart attack would probably keep me in Chicago for a little while longer. I'll work on that.
- mcl
"Human suffering doesn't sell in Kansas City."
"They want laughs in Kansas City! They've been working in the wheat fields all day!"
- from Stardust Memories