Tuesday, April 17, 2012


I went to three high schools, two middle schools, and two elementary schools.  I've lived in three countries.  One of the things my identity does not contain is a sense of place. I was born in Seattle but I haven't lived there since I was one.  In fact, the only place I have lived long enough to count is the midwest of the United States, and I feel as alienated there as an illegal immigrant in Arizona.  The best compliments I've ever received have been foreign nationals telling me they don't believe I'm American.

Certainly, the armpit of America, where I currently reside, has no bonds on my heart.  There is nothing about this pedestrian-unfriendly, humidity-ridden backwater that encourages my continued presence.  It does, however, demonstrate a foible of my character.  Having moved somewhere, having started a new job, I am loath to leave.

Moving to Florida really only had one thing going for it; it wasn't St. Louis.  I'd lived a couple hours away for my last two years of high school and they certainly didn't commend it to my memory.  Although, I did have two good friends here, Herb and John, they were both in the military and weren't really tied to location.  I moved because I had a job offer outside of St. Louis.  And, to be completely honest, that was probably the best choice I've made in years.

To be sure, moving to a place with few prospects and dubious weather simply because you need to leave where you are isn't the smartest choice in the world.  Still, I have a job, and I don't have memories haunting my every breath.  Nothing here reminds me of anyone.

I do wish I could forge some new memories that have nothing to do with a computer screen.  I guess that will be part of stage two.  If stage one was breaking my ties to my past, then stage two is finding someplace to make new ties.

This story doesn't really have a point.  It is more of a literary dead end.

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