Cost of Leaving

Price of living in a small town: I'm restless. We don't get a summer here, just a 6-month-long spring which segues right on into fall. Being emotionally driven by light and weather, summer feels like endless possibilities that just don't pan out. I'm uneasy, and desperately want a new life.

Driving over Bald Hills today with W, I am reminded at how delicious life is, and that if it's Town that's getting to me, I could just as well leave. If only I hadn't felt the need to put down roots. The cost of staying is high, but the cost of leaving seems higher. To transition from this known to either a completely new unknown or trying to reinsert myself into an old skin seems much more painful than just staying, for once, and trying to make the here just where I want to be.

If I could change it all, would I? New face, new id, less ego, more tolerance. More girl, less stability. They all seem like unsavory tradeoffs, so maybe I'm better off staying as is and waiting for the world to either figure out what to do with me or to catch up with me.

Waiting makes me restless.

Summertime in a small town is exactly why I knit. I can't sit still, and yarn is cheaper than drugs.