I think it's time to leave.
That sort of gut-feeling where you wander around what was your home and feel like a thin specter, without purpose, without place, memories moth-balled, covered in cardboard...the realization that however much bourbon still doesn't make the feeling go away.
And you know it's time to leave.
So here it goes, my dear people...Bagginses and Boffins, Tooks and Brandybucks... I'll keep it short.
The official story is that I'm fleeing the country until somebody overthrows the Cheney regime and his puppet Bush; blood in the streets of Chicago and all that. Unofficially? What do you do when everything around you starts feeling strange, home isn't home, you're in your favourite haunts and you can't help but wonder if there's something more...my solution is to pack up and leave America behind.
My god, I've been in this city for over 21 years now, know every bar and street corner, the best bowling alleys and breweries, how to score the best weed here and what houses are selling perfumed oregano. When your bartender and the cigarette-counter clerk know you by name, it's time to leave.
I suppose I should log my day, but there isn't really much. Said my goodbyes at The University yesterday, micturated on the business school one more time for good measure, and that was that for the social checklist. Hardest part was deciding what books to leave here and which to take, which to send. I feel naked without them....my Goethe has seen a dozen countries with me, it's the first thing I packed.
But enough rambling. Don't right know when or if I'll see Chicago again. Don't right know when I'll have internet access again. But until then, thanks folks.
It's been a blast.
Cheers.