1:37 p.m. - 01.14.2003
This bird can fly.
Freedom! Horrible, horrible freedom! I've been released from exile. Joy of joys. I'm making my way to sweet Canaan. In the words of our fine Native American forebearers, "Alabama!" (I read once in A People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn, one of those revisionist's history books, how Alabama means 'here we may rest'. Apparently, when there were still Indians on the East Coast, we kicked them all as far west as we could, and they named it 'Here we may rest' or Alabama to the layperson. But as we all know, there haven't been Indians in Alabama in....a long time.)
Have I gotten off track?
I say 'horrible freedom' for a number of reasons. It's a Catch 22-thing. First, it's nice to know that the captain has turned off the seatbelt sign and that I'm free to move about the cabin now, but at the same time I'm enjoying my convo with the individual next to me. (If I stay - the drink cart should be around once more, and dammit, I need more salty comfort snack-foods! Not to mention that I haven't even touched the latest issue of SkyMall. Maybe I'll just sneak it down to my carry-on...wha?! Don't look at me like that! It's complimentary!)
In other words, I could hoof it back to me Ma's in North Cackalaky - but there's nothing there for me. Yes - I DO need to start job hunting, but I can do that from anywhere. And I'm having fun here being around people I know. Well, I KNOW my mom, sure - but I mean people my own AGE. It's an intrinsic need. I need my peers to judge me. I perform well in a social-rewards system.
I believe the Clash summed it up best when they crooned, "Should I stay or should I go now?"
�
�