I’m moving to Austin. In about a month and a half, I’m going to pack up, say goodbye to this Oklahoman hell, and take off. This Oklahoman hell has treated me well. I will miss the pressure of the red earth on the back of my head and the creeping warmth of my coyote den. But I’ve reached a point of complacency. I am not advancing how I’d like, and I find myself once again in the care of well-intentioned relatives who want to soften the inevitable blow that comes from living in this world, this vicious, gorgeous vagina dentata of the universe.
Well I don’t want to be in this cocoon for the rest of my life. I don’t want Mommy’s trust fund, a pent house, or an asylum room that keeps me from hurting my head with the padded walls. I want to break my head against that fucking wall. I want to be bludgeoned to death. I want to be castrated by the fanged earth. I want to be miserable and heated and shivering in the cold and dying of fever. I want a headache every day of my life. Every time my hands touch the keyboard to write, I want to vomit blood. I want desperate sex. I want to learn who I am beyond these four walls.
I would rather be miserable everyday than continue in this stagnant complacency.
I made the decision to leave the house that tore me apart. Now I will make the decision to live for myself. To hurt. To breathe.
I have little over a thousand dollars in my bank account. I’m currently working as a freelance writer, in other word, chronically unemployed except for churning out the occasional web content article. I have no job prospects in Austin. No friends. I’ve got 45 days until I go. I’ll either become stabilized or end up on the streets, but at least I pushed forward and took a risk. At least I made a conscious decision to combat this inertia.
So if you’re living in Austin, or have lived in Austin, or want to give me some tips on how to live in a new city on nothing but premature dreams, let me know.