Cashing In

I'm cashing in on my due karma on Sunday. I've decided. After the absolutely shitty summer I've had here in this lovely land I call hell, I figure I'm due. That, and I'm marked. You know like in the movie Final Destination? I've been escaping it all summer long so I might as well test the fates. If I'm going down, I'm going down hard. And in a way that I choose. So there. Come and get me. I dare you. You can chase me down over 140.6 miles and we'll see who wins. I'm ready. You're a pussy who has to use boats, and eggs, and bullets to try to take me out. I've been tested in the fire of your wrath and I'm still standing. Still running. And biking. And swimming. You can't beat me in my game. On my field. Sure, strand me in this layover away from anyone who resembles a friend and you can break my spirit and make me angry and stir up hate. But did I respond? Did I retaliate? No. I just let you walk over me all summer long. Beating me and bruising me. You still have the skin that belongs on my elbow. Well guess what? Your time is up. We're heading to my territory now. And you don't know my game. You only pretend. Well you better go run scared because the countdown is on. And it's payback time. Rage, it turns out, is an excellent motivator. And maybe, just maybe, when I'm done beating the shit out of you... I can come back to this...place, and go back to living on my terms. And you can leave me the fuck alone.

Aahhhhh. Don't you always feel a little better after a rant? I do. A friend of mine once remarked that this city is like a layover. It is rare that you meet someone who is actually from here... born and raised. Everyone comes here for a short while on their way to someplace better. Away. From here. I've been thinking about that a lot recently and I think it has a lot to do with why I hate it so much here. It's so cold and unfriendly. And I think it's because no one has roots here. They have no family or friends or places they've always gone. There is nothing here that anyone cares about because they are not from here... and therefore no one cares. About anything. That's not to say I haven't met some really great people (who live here... but are not from here...). But you know how when you go home... to a place that has roots, and meaning... that people just care a little bit more? They don't have to know you, but there's just a little bit of human-ness that reaches across the boundary to someone in need. Someone who needs a smile. Or help with something. When you care, you reach out without even thinking about it.

As a friend reminded me this week... there are shitty people everywhere. Yes. I have lived everywhere. I know that. But even in all of the big cities that I've lived in (smaller cities are usually a given), no place has felt as rude and disrespectful toward basic human life as this place. So like everyone else, I will bide my time and when this economy turns around and my house can sell.... I will fly far far away.

Until then... Me vs. the Layover: Round one.

Ding.