Pre-requisite reading for this post: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quarter-life_crisis
In a matter of barely-even-months, three illustrious members of Spokanicity will be leaving us for greener pastures. Well, I'm not sure if Albany is greener, but it's certainly freakin' far away. Montana's Flathead Valley is a bit closer, but I won't be surprised if we don't see hide nor hair of Jesse around the Spo for awhile. And it's got me thinking about where *I'm* going to go next.
I have no freakin' clue.
I don't hate Spokane to the core of my being, like some of us might. It has it's meth-frosted charm, and if it comes down to it, I can imagine raising a family here. But it's not my heart's home... though I'm not even sure where that is yet. I daydream about making to move to Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, or Denver - but will I ever really do it? And when? It's a bit financially irresponsible for me to leave Spokietown right now, not to mention that I haven't even figured out what I want to DO. So I am here, for awhile. My social circle is dwindling, and I feel a bit of panic closing in, because of how hard it will be to find like-minded people in this post-graduate wasteland - the type of people who I like to knock back a few beers with (and sometimes have subsequent ridiculous dance parties) as well as pontificate on the meaning of life with. Wine-driven debauchery AND intelligent conversation: is that so much to ask? People like YOU GUYS! But not scattered across the country - here, with me, for now, in Spokane. Thank the Lord that Matt and Becca haven't flown the coop yet.
But, you know, it's not like I don't have ANY friends left in Spokane, and I have a good job, and some family close by, and blah blah blah. These are just strange days for us, and I've never been a big fan of the ch-ch-changes.
Be well, my friends.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
- from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," T. S. Eliot