deflecting or delaying

To be clear, I’m writing this right now to try to get a song out of my head. Yes, the walking human iPod from hell has struck again. For the past two hours, while I read a great book, I’ve been humming “Could Have Been So Beautiful.”

Yes.

That song. Argh. Ugh. Blech. What the hell ever. I know every word, and I’ve been singing it in my head OVER AND OVER AND OVER since 8ish. (Scroll to the end if you want to torture yourself. Use extreme caution.)

Dear sweet baby Cheesus, make it stop. Nobody and I mean nobody, even sworn enemies, should have a Tiffany song in their head. Seriously. This is hell.

In other news, I’ve got to strap on what little adulting I possess and make some decisions. Entirely vague on purpose, but tonight, I was presented with a possible opportunity that will force me into making a pile of decisions.

Here is the thing. I’m 40 (duh) and have been slogging in this quagmire of discontent for a while. Not overly discontent, but this ever so constant hum of “is this it? is this the life? is this the house? is this the city?” has been playing on repeat in my head for a while. Actually tonight, it’s fighting space with that mother trucking song by Tiffany.

I got to where I am living due to a string of life circumstances, but really, because DFW is/was and always will be, a hub. Back in the day when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and I was on the good side of my 30’s, I had a life that had my ass on a plane pretty much all the time. Zipping from here to there, trying to have a life, trying to have a relationship, and I really just needed a closet/couch and bed in the middle of the country, before I had to fly back to San Fran and/or DC (or San Diego, Augusta, NYC, Chicago, Seattle, San Francisco oh ya, and Utah.). It was literally the perfect middle place based on the sheer proximity to the airport. I NEVER planned on being here forever. I had Plan A, B, C and D. Plan A exploded much about the time that Plan B imploded. Plan C really was a poster child for failure to launch and here we are at Plan D. Life in the ‘burbs. In a cute little house, with two dogs. What the fuck? HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? Anyways, as one does, you dig in, start to just live and do the things you are doing without much thought. A better part of a decade can be pissed away with ambivalence and low expectations.

ANYWAYS… this brings me to the past few years. Working away, living a life, surrounded by a damn good group of people. Awesome people that have great lives. Every day, I go home to the little house and just embrace a Groundhog Day-Esque existence of doing the same shit over and over and over again. Making a few questionable life choices, but, by and large, I contribute to society, to my job and hopefully, I’m not too much of an asshole to my friends and family.

This brings me to today. For months now, I’ve been wondering “where do I go from here?” Where do I want to be, is this where i imagine myself living for another 5-10-30 years?

IF I ONLY KNEW.

I am damn good at what I do. It pays the bills and keeps the pups in rawhides. I get to do what I like to do and on most days enjoy the work. I mean, it’s technically a job, so some days suck, but other days are just really good. You get to fix things, make people money, and then walk away from your computer for a few hours. PLUS- because of what I do, I literally just need a computer and an internet connection to be productive. Hell, I can get work done at 35K miles. TAKE THAT MILE HIGH CLUB.

So, there is that.

Location. Hmm. This is the tough one. Technically, I have no real reason to stay here nor do I have a particularly compelling reason to go. (blast The Clash loudly right now.) I have very mixed emotions about moving back to whence I came. I don’t particularly want to go to where I’ve been, nor am I entirely sold on the idea of moving up to the frozen tundra. I just don’t know. I have these two big furry assholes that I cater to on a regular basis that makes picking up and moving somewhere not exactly a walk in the dog park.

At this point, I just wish I could make one of those old school fortune teller flippy thingies and have it tell me what to do. If only it were that easy, right?

Truthfully, I’d be happy with a sign. Or a clue. Or something. But, in the interim, I’m going to wish and hope and pray that this damn Tiffany song gets out of my head before I do something drastic.

 

 

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