on this day last year...

I was making my triumphant return from France, and stepping through the transatlantic portal of possibility that I thought surely had nothing but good things on the other side of it. This date is a hallmark to me because it's been approximately one year since I've had any idea what the fuck I was doing. I realized my goal of moving to Austin (after approximately four months of fucking off followed by two months of living at my parents' and working my ass to the bone), but I swandove into the olympic swimming pool of my capacity for inertia. Three months later, I finally started pulling it together, at least in terms of being able to have a job, pay rent, buy groceries, etc.

It just feels weird. That it's taken me this long to have some kind of functional existence. I've spent almost a solid year flailing, mired in mediocrity and laziness, unfocused to the point of unreason.

I suppose it feels good to not be trapped in that psychological rat's nest any longer, but I feel like it can only inculcate a new kind of struggle. Where I try and find meaning and expression and wonder in my life every day. Now that I'm finally, actually BUSY I have to learn how to make my time important. Because having so many months of nothing but time showed me that nothing was precisely the thing to be doing. All the time.

I don't know what I'm getting at here. But now that the double espresso I just sucked down is suffusing with my life's blood and Dee-lite is playing on the outside porch of the coffee house I am currently blogging from and the heat is a delicious thing and so is this cigarette between my lips (god, so many quitters are filling the streets, it makes my inner-smoker nervous beyond belief).

Today also marks the almost six-month anniversary of my Austinlife. To mark these dual occaisons and welcome the flush of heat with open arms, I'm going to rid myself of this multi-dyed black hair and clip it down all the way to a half inch of real hair roots. Starting fresh.