I promised to return and not to leave her so... [024]
Stuck in my head: "The Yellow Rose of Texas"
Mitch Miller with his Orchestra and Chorus
[single]
I'm not advertising this blog entry like I usually do.
That is, I generally post it to social media where people can see the link and read it if they want, though I am absolutely certain is goes largely ignored. I'm not so self-centered to think anyone reads this crapola with any regularity of their own volition, despite past accusations of being an egotist (right, DEBRA?!).
I'm not very proud of what I have to say today, but here goes...
On December 7, 2022 (a date which will live in personal infamy), I will have officially lived in washington state longer than I lived in Texas.
Assuming I retire at age sixty-seven and return home, I'd still have to make it to around ninety-one/ninety-two years of age to undo this... and don't think that I won't, fuckers.
Still... I have known this time would come for a long while. Maybe a lot of people don't think about such stupid things, but times, dates, faces, places, and feelings are all of such vast importance to me. The pages of the book that is your life should be colored with wondrous and enriching memories, and mine is. I'm grateful for all the moments I've experienced, including the difficult and embarrassing times, because I can reflect on how I've tried to become a better person after having fucked up and/or made a fool of myself on numerous occasions.
I've never fit in here in washington. I'll likely never fit in here. The sad truth is that I never fit in when I was growing up, either. It took going to college and finding a gaggle of genuinely odd people before I finally felt good enough to just be myself. Even so, between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two, your "self" - so to speak - is still formulating, and your stupid brain doesn't really figure things out until you're at least thirty, and you probably don't even feel confident about it until you turn forty.
Talk to me when I turn fifty, though, I'm sure my opinion will continue to evolve.
One of the defining moments of my life was last July, rolling into Austin on Bastille Day. Rogue's message (yes, Rogue is her nickname for the purposes of this blog) came through and my heart just about broke:
"Hi guys! I have no idea if this is a pipe dream, but how cool would it be to have a mini-slab reunion while Christopher is in town? What do y’all think...can we make this happen? (I mean even just the 3 of us). I would love to see you all."
I didn't ask for it, but it was a hell of a way to make a person feel welcomed home.
At one point, I remember tearing up, and Punk Girl said, "Oh, stop that!"
Whatever, man... the love is real, and despite your bravado, I know y'all love me, too.
I'm not sure I remember another time when I felt that way, "welcomed home". It's a powerful, indescribable sensation, and along with getting older and reflecting back on life, I find my identity as a Texan having been strengthened.
Of course, there are the political battles; there are still wars to fight back home, and my heart is always in battle... call it the way of the warrior, I suppose. I grew up in a so-called "blue" area of Texas, went to a very liberal college, so it's no wonder I ended up being rather left-leaning. After all, why wouldn't one want their taxes to cover medical care and infrastructure, public broadband internet and a raising of people's live out of poverty? I want MORE for Texas and Texans, and I think it's always been an affront to me for northwesterners to assume 1.) that every Texan is some gun-toting redneck asshole, and 2.) that these same "gun-toting redneck assholes" aren't in king county's backyard.
Living in washington always feels like you're dealing with a bunch of spoiled brats who don't speak to you because of some cultural idiosincrasy that permeates through to people who would otherwise have no roots here. I can understand that Scandinavian people (either in northern Europe or Ballard Seattle's immigrant population which has seemingly left us) might not exchange meaningless chatter in favor of having real conversations when necessary, but why a northwesterner who moved here for a tech job does it seems more like herd behavior rather than a cultural norm. Living amongst this negligence is an affront to my good sense, but it's also good sense to know that from a legal perspective, life is pretty decent here - I can get an abortion if I need one! I have a job, a career where I do pretty okay and can afford to send money back home as necessary. At the current rate, I'll retire with a good pension and be able to return home and live out my days in relative peace, helping people who might need it because that's what Texans DO.
The price to pay is being stuck here for longer than I guess I assumed I would be... but I didn't imagine I'd get older, either. Life can change in the blink of an eye, and all this can be over tomorrow. It's been a good life - not perfect, but nobody's life is.
Just do me a favor - if something were to happen to me, please get me home. I absolutely refuse to end my days anywhere but where they began.
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