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Worldwide Ace » New World Order

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New World Order

17 March, 2014 (08:11) | Growing Up

“How are you liking living in Ned?” they ask me.

Sometimes my response is an awkward pause with that deer-in-headlights look. Other times, I shrug and look off wistfully unable to answer. Only that first week did I feel like I had a reasonable response.

“Ask again in a week,” I would tell them. “I haven’t been here long enough to process it.”

How long does it take to realign one’s life? I had been living in Boulder four years before I even thought about calling it home. When I moved to Boston, it took me five years to stop saying I was from San Francisco.

I’ve been in Nederland less than two months, and my entire life seems different and alien.

Gone is the routine mornings cooking for my now non-existent carpool. Instead, I roll out of bed, or perhaps stay there pecking away at my laptop. I make coffee, I shower, I shave if I have to. I wander around the corner to the coffee shop or to Dot’s or I don’t. I step out my door and stick out my thumb looking for a ride instead of texting and calling and organizing my transportation.

No longer do I return to the house in which I’m staying to find a quiet, comfortable evening with a packed pipe. I haven’t smoked since I moved. I’m completely lacking the desire. I told myself I wouldn’t until I got my head straight, but even after I had, I’ve said no at every opportunity. My evenings are instead spent across the way at the local bars, my drinking increasing in odd ways. I talk with the rotating crew of friends and coworkers, putz around on my laptop, read, write, mess with my bass.

My desktop sits sadly unused on my desk. I have a plethora of games that I was slowly pushing through in my spare time. I haven’t played a game since my arrival. I’ve loaded one or two time wasters, stared at the start screen, and quit. My controller is collecting dust in a drawer, my hands callous and worn only from work.

There’s plenty of drama in the house. Roommates coming and going. Breakups, sex, drugs, alcoholism, fights; they wash over and past me, never touching. I felt cold and uncaring when one of my roommates attempted suicide the other week. The pools of blood, the screaming and slamming of doors, it all seemed so detached. The drama here is plenty, but none of it is mine.

Which isn’t to say I don’t have drama, it’s just separate. I have familial drama; the death of my grandfather, the medical status of my father, the issues my cousins are experiencing, the future of the condo I so love. I have relational drama; the women in whom I’m interested and their diverse locations, the women who are interested in me, the wide variety of weird, wild desires with which I suddenly feel beset. I have work drama; the ups and downs of the season, the change in management, the constant barrage of complaints and the realization that even I’m not always happy. These things all add up to plenty of drama.

While I spend hours at home, they’re spent sleeping, cleaning, working, cooking, dealing with the lie I lead outside. Half of my nights aren’t even spent in Nederland. I leave to ski, to shop, to visit friends, to wander, to study, to be elsewhere. I go to concerts, to restaurants, to work, to friends’ houses, to stores.

I feel happy, wistful, lonely, tired, surrounded…

And I wonder if I’m even really here.

“How are you liking living in Ned?” they ask me.

If I were honest, I would tell them I don’t really know. After all, I may sleep here, but I seem to live everywhere else.

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