Bottle up your springtime.

Yesterday may have just been one of the finest days I've ever spent. All my friendships here have officially made their full circle. Six surprising expedites to various haunts around town. The revisiting of old faces, deeply-etched memories and the absence of overwrought resentments. Apologies were finally exchanged accompanied by much needed liquid courage to leave everything behind for the best. Leaving Chicago at four in the afternoon. My life has been packed away in a series of six overstuffed boxes. I've decided that George Carlin was right all along. Maybe all home really is just a place for your stuff. Spending the morning watching the Fassbinder trilogy synched up to Nina Simone and Villa-Lobos's Bachianas Brasilieras. ("Let's switch reels at the end of the song. Bury old motifs and hold tight to this new rhythm. Shall we? We shall. Let's go.") If I were any happier, I'd turn to gas. If the sky were any more blue, we'd be deep in the ocean. Everyone is out today. And no one is a stranger. I'm full of love and beauty and sense of glorious renewal. I can only hope it sustains itself a little while longer.

Or forever. Yes. Forever would be nice too.

---The Deleted Commentary - Hair-twirling, caution stickers, etc.---

There's an underexplored natural phenomenon that occurs within any switchover period of a person's experience. Like that feeling you get at the end of summer break before going back to the job you really, really hate. Or the final week of that job you really, really hate when you get drunk with your employers and decide maybe they weren't so bad after all. Or... okay, I don't feel much like coming up with another example. But you know what I mean, right? It's the same phenomenon as danger itself. Standing on the heels of one experience before coming into another. Which sounds simple enough, but I feel ridiculous for even trying to describe how complicated it really is. For one, it's not a place where you can live, and after awhile (if you do it enough) you can tired of all the bridge-burning, all the arbitrary swerving and hair pulling and hysterical phone calls to Mom and Dad. Today, I feel an incredible of release from all this. But why can't I give this a sense of constancy? What's the hell is that going to take? I guess it's the next thing worth finding out.