Dining on Ashes

How did I get to this point, I wonder…?

Sometimes, when my personal space becomes too limited for my tastes, I feel somewhat like a captive here, and I have to just get out of the house for a while. But I have nowhere to go.

It’s also far too chaotic to act on my already dwindling motivation to retain my “Classically-trained composer” status. I don’t get to write much anymore. You might say my family is cramping my style.

Lately I’ve been missing Kansas City—namely, the hopeful and independent days of living alone, not the shitty-roommate epoch. In my optimistic attempt to forge St. Louis into a brighter landscape of opportunity and contentedness, I discovered that it has just as little to offer me as, say, Anchorage.

But lately I have really been pining to return to Kansas City. So much so that I started seriously hypothesizing how I can actually pull it off. The economy sucks, but I may have a way of positioning myself for a transfer… and this time, I won’t land myself in a dead-end job just to get my foot in the door of the town. None of that data entry bullshit. Two things come to mind: administration at the St. Louis Art Museum (and thus waiting to jump on an opening at Nelson-Atkins) or Bank of America, which should allow a smooth transition later, if I could just infiltrate one here first.

Herr Vogler has a job waiting for me. It’s the part-time job I couldn’t take in March, which precipitated my evacuation from Overland Park, to sever all ties and start fresh. I knew at the time that it would be a full-time position by August/September, and now I just wish I could afford the principal funds to move back and start that job. Alas, I haven’t the resources at this juncture.

How did I get to this point… here, in St. Charles… in decay… counting my failures and dining on ashes with some cheap merlot to bring out the flavor.

There is nothing for you here… only death.

The lure of my assets calls me… it beckons… Kansas City, you capricious bitch. What I wouldn’t give for the freedom I had a year ago…

All this must sound stale and bitter to you. ”Oh God, he’s changing his mind AGAIN and saying he wishes he could go BACK to a city he more or less disavowed? Come ON! I can’t read this crap anymore!”

I never really wanted to leave. I just wanted to be there on my terms. And, after sitting in Hell’s waiting room for long enough, I discovered how much worse life can be than what I had when I lived alone in Stonewood Apartments. I am not looking back with rose-colored glasses; It was never all that pleasant, my year there. But I know what I need. Ultimately, I have discovered that there truly is no place for me, so I might as well be where I can do the most good for myself. The second time around, I will be able to avoid certain pitfalls (must… have… multiple backup plans). Theoretically, I can really start to enjoy life, but at the earliest that would be in another year or so. Wow, that’s depressing. Thank the economy for that. At least gas is cheap enough that driving to KC for an interview wouldn’t destr… wwwwait…

Anyway, in an arguably significant gesture, I have renewed my KC-area profile on Roomiematch.com, just to keep my options open. At least I have a short-term goal: transplant.

I won’t be able to visit BG before Julio and company departs at the end of the month, either. What a disappointment. That’s the end of Ohio. Sure will be hard to come by a plane ticket to Portland…

One day, I will sit down with my friends in Kansas City and we will share a bottle of Glenlivet as I toast the horizon. One day, I will be able to breath and remember what it feels like to be giddy with eagerness. One day, I won’t feel like a prisoner and a victim of circumstance, even though I have only myself to blame.

The longer you are cut off from your good influences, the more challenging it becomes to remember the harder lessons, like accept the consequences of your decisions without remorse and do not dwell on elements beyond your control.