Three posts in one day; and this one less than an hour after the last. You must think I have nothing better to do with my time. And you would be right. I do have nothing better to do with my time.
This is because I am moving tomorrow. The title at the top of the page says that I am writing to you from the beautiful mud plains of Columbus, Ohio. That is not exactly correct. Currently, I am writing to you from the beautiful mud hills of Cincinnati, Ohio, where I have spent the last five years hoping against hope that I can remain a kid for the rest of my life. All of this stops tomorrow. Tomorrow I move into a brand new house in the township of Clintonville on the outskirts of Columbus, Ohio. On Monday I start a job at a company in Columbus (which I will not list here for fear that my boss will locate my website and then fire me for speaking poorly of the company…rest assured, I will speak poorly of the company. After nearly a decade of full time work, coupled with a lifetime of mundane part time and temporary jobs, I have learned one, immutable fact. And that fact is this: work sucks and there is always something to complain about).
The movers are coming tomorrow at 10:00am. They will pack my belongings in boxes and load them onto the truck. They will take everything away and deposit my things into my new abode, on the crime-riddled streets of Clintonville, as I mentioned earlier.
This should be a happy time for me. This should be a time of great, exuberant celebration. After nearly six years as a prisoner to the hopeless confines of Cincinnati, I should be glad that the gods of capitalism have offered me a reprieve. But for some reason, I am not. I had resigned myself to living in Cincinnati. I had grown attached to its ugly hills, cheap attempts at social activism, and the friends I have made and hardly ever see. I have grown closer to my family than I ever thought I would. My mom and I have gone to church together for the better part of six months now and dad and I have talked incessantly about spring making way for an enjoyable season of golf.
So I’m a bit sad. Yes, I’m excited about starting a new job and getting the opportunity to hang out with old friends on a more regular basis. But I can’t help but feel that this move, like all the rest, will be temporary. I can’t help but feel that by the time I get the chance to establish some roots, I’ll have to tear them up again and move on.
I don’t know why. And I don’t know why I’m telling you (since you aren’t reading this anyway), but that’s what it feels like.
But who knows? My new roommate says that there is a group of people that likes to play Frisbee golf every Sunday after church. Maybe I can take part in that. Maybe I can pretend to be horrible for a few weeks, then bet vast amounts of green money against everyone and flog them mercilessly for weeks on end.
That would be a great way to start, wouldn’t it? And if not, it would give me a good reason to move again!