Our dirt bikes bring all the boys to the yard. Damn right, they're better than yours.

Sunday, March 18, 2007

And the perpetual mystery continues...

Monday, I fly to Edmonton.
When I get there, for an indeterminate amount of time, I may work in Spruce Grove at a translation company as a marketing assistant, and I may live with my elderly grandparents for a while.
Or I may get a labour job with the temp agency I signed up for when I decided to leave Oceantown for long enough to pay for a trip across the country.
Or I may stay for good.
Or I may apply for the multitude of bottom-level jobs I'm overqualified for. I'm certain I could be a reporter for the Smalltown Dirtbag. Or for the Globe and Mail. It's more a matter of who will take me, than who I'm qualified to typo for.
Regardless, I'm leaving the town that feels more and more like home every time I step outside my house. If it's not the people I meet and know every time I go for groceries, or the friends and neighbours who show up uninvited to make my life more interesting at all hours of the day, it's any one of the 300,000 people in my tiny circle of friends who somehow seem to end up appearing right when I'm at my lowest. When I'm certain there's no real reason to stay here in the poor east, suffering through financial hardship, psychological turmoil, (related to the guilt of being too poor to do much of anything) or just plain boredom of working once a week for less than ten dollars an hour, someone invites me to the beach. Someone asks me for some help. Someone shows some indication that without me, Oceantown would be a sadder, more boring, less interesting place.
And it's horrifying. Many times before, after a short while elsewhere, be it Edmonton, or Calgary, I've realized that I'm not needed there the way I am here. Or, at least, I'm not content the way I am here. I don't want to drive to visit people. I don't want to plan around traffic to be certain I get to see my friends. Here, (but ever so rarely) loneliness is an error of omission, rather than the case in Edmonton, or elsewhere, where someone didn't want to drive the half-hour to visit me. I don't know how to justify or explain this to you. You'd have to be here, and be poor, and be indifferent, or even be well off, but still willing to live within this community structure... it's really hard to explain right now...
Regardless, in two days, I'm flying across the country, for finances, for family, to pick up a free truck, and to make enough money to drive it back to Oceantown. And to live here a while longer. I don't want to be successful. I don't want to be rich. Hell, I'd even put off being respected in my field a little longer. I just want to be happy.
And this is where it happens. Never mortgage that for anything.