And in other news, I really didn't want to get up this morning. Not that I usually want to, but today I actively didn't want to. So instead I didn't. Okay, I did, but not on time. I got up at 815. I'm a damn rebel. Then I spent the 5 minutes in the shower singing Dust in the Wind. No idea why.
The day that we left Seattle, I had that shit lodged in my brain all day. A little more understandable there.
"Only for a moment, but the moment's gone."
It was a long moment, admittedly. About 1/3 of my life. It isn't even like it was one time, or one place. How do you pack 19-28 into one category? I got there scared of girls and throwing toga parties in my shitty apartment, and left half married and hosting dinner parties. There were easily 4 life stages in between. Sometimes I think parts of it happened to someone else.
"All we do, crumbles to the ground though we refuse to see."
Okay, so it's a little pathetic, building an entry around a song by Kansas. I generally try not to put too much weight on things written by bands named for states. Or cities for that matter. But it's what happened. Too late now.
Leaving wasn't like moving to Olympia, or out of the Madhouse. I remember packing my green room up when I left my boys and moved in with Brie, putting my posters in a tube, knowing they wouldn't be out for a while, maybe ever. The poster of Uma Thurman, the Pulp Fiction poster, the one that's been over my bed, slightly canted left, since I was 16. It was a shock, for sure, but it wasn't like this one. The Monday before we left was our last trivia. Dekkie announced it. That was the first time it hit me. Every Monday for 7 years. I missed maybe three or four a year all told, and only because I was out of town. Then standing outside the Fields with the Madhouse boys, one last night. There were a few stars. At the going away party it wasn't too bad, too many people. Packing the truck was easy, too. But the last time we walked through the house, I got stuck in my little paint studio in the basement. I spent hours outfitting that room, insulating it, dust proofing. And hours painting, and money on supplies... It never amounted to much of anything. I couldn't get the dust out of the room, and I couldn't get enough business, but I painted some bikes, and some other things. And it was a little dream in my basement, one that I followed, if only for a while. It was funny, standing there, in the dark. All these dreams, pass before my eyes, a curiosity. Woops. Did it again. But it was like that. Humming Dust in the Wind, sweeping the last of my paint flecks off the floor. It stayed and it hung, tune or tuneless. It started in my basement, and from there straight till Portland was behind me.
So I guess that's that. I've been too busy since I got here for it to really set in, you know, that I can't just drive up the road and grab a beer with my buddies. And as glad as I am for a fresh start, it's gonna hit me like a sledgehammer one of these days.
