There is a goodbye in me, and I am determined to say it before I leave, and I don't know when that will happen. Tomorrow will already be Tuesday and on Thursday I am leaving, and I still have yet to say my farewells to this town that has been my home for the past four years off and on. I will though. Tomorrow, I promise.
In the meantime, Ben Haber kicked my ass at tennis today in two straight sets: 6-1, 6-5. In better news, I got a 177 bowling tonight. Still did not break 200, which is my goal. Drank four beers, flipped crepes like the best goddamn crepe flipper this side of Paris, and tomorrow at ten I will be attending Jamie's bacc. and then I will work my last day at Best Western. I might even do some packing tomorrow. I will probably drink more, sing more, and maybe other things more. I've got limited time here and all I want to do is play tennis and tan at the beach.
Sarasota, never mind that, let's get started on the goodbyes, because I am at the computer, and I don't know how much more of this computer sitting time I will have before I go. Sarasota, to you, I lost my virginity, I lost three bikes, some might say my innocence. Four years ago, I came here because it was Florida and I knew absolutely no one and that idea appealed to me more than anything about the school, the fact that I would know no one. And in that time, by knowing no one, and by meeting people, some of them outragously kind, I have come to know more about this, maybe even some stuff about myself, have become comfortable in being a cocksucker, have admitted to it, proclaming it loudly somtimes while drunk. I have tripped hard and seen little people dancing over the overpass and that too, this town gave to me. I have thought I was going to die too many nights from things I should not have ingested, and that seemed romantic to me then, it seemed like a neccesary bohemian experience, and now I laugh at people who think things like that, those who have yet to find the true joy of good hops.
And maybe I am going to New York, because I know barely anyone there, the potentials for self-reinvention seems numerous, and maybe I want to become more of a cocksucker.
I will miss 41, pissing in public over walls, and the ability to steal all my groceries. I will miss banyan trees up and down Eastchester, I will miss that big whatever tree in front of Sainer that has the most beautiful blossoms in early spring. I have juiced juice from trees in my backyard, and that thrilled me then, and the memorey of it thrills me know, and that, I will miss too, the feeling that life, a basic life can still provide everything, that this earth has huge tits, and it is willing to milk us, it provides us with everything.
The cactus tree at the end of my block, the Gulf of Mexico, parrots in the wild, all of this, will be foresaken for a plane ticket I bought a while ago, and perhaps that's a good thing, perhaps not, no judgement is being made. An opportunity was created to provide me with new things to one day miss, and to make my realtity a soon to be memorey, to touch these objects, and say oh, I do love reading headlines from the Weekley World News about Satan taking over the earth while waiting in line at Win-Dixie when the power goes out in the supermarket and right before the car I was driving dies. It's fucking lovely, and walking on stilts for someone's idea of art also is lovely. Stilts are lovely, and I have a feeling I will not be walking on any throught the streets of New York.
I have wrestled in mud, and drank outrageous amounts of alcohol, and puked an almost equally outrageous amount back out, some of it I was able to hold down. I have had crushes that I have never made out with, that I have masturbated to thoughts of, and they too will stay here with memories of this place, of the Sunshine State, their chests will be forever basking in this Florida glow, and I will soon be leaving it, the glow, their chests, and their rebuffs, and that's good, but I also will miss it. The people, the people - those who love to dance, and those I have madde out with, and those who have refused to, and god, those midnight bike rides, and all of it, all, all, concluding soon, this chapter sequeing into the New York one, and I don't know. I shouldn't be writing this buzzed from stolen beer, I really did want to write something nice about my time in this town. Maybe I still will.