July 1, 2003

On July 1, 2003 I met a girl.

It is important to know the highlights of this story because the stratospheric highs and hellish lows I experienced over two years and one day color everything else that happened during that time.

If someone had asked me to describe an ideal mate, this chick would have come close: beautiful, intelligent, cynical, creative, sexy, stylish and an incredible cook. The first time I tried to describe her I said, “She’s a female version of me.” I later concluded that she was the right brain version of myself: where I am relatively logical, punctual and think in black and white, she was creative, imaginative, perpetually late and fairly willing to force reality to adjust to her perception. I always figured that made us complementary. I learned a great deal during time spent with my female counterpart: to relax, to be patient, to let the freak flag fly, to be spontaneous, to force your environment to deal with you.

And now we come to the story of my life: I fell in love. She didn’t. Rinse, repeat.

For two years we did entertaining things: traveled to Philly, New York, Boston, Baltimore and Washington, rode the train, went to museums and concerts, hung out with rockstars and artists, drank lots of varied alcohol, abused yuppies, were kind to children and animals and generally enjoyed each other’s company.

By the spring of 2005 I had finally concluded that there was no future. More than that, I decided that to leave her I would have to leave my home, my town, my state and everything and everyone I knew. By that point it was them or me, I was either leaving under my own power or I was leaving feet first. Real and immediate crisis. The goal was just to keep from seeing her but since I have the backbone of a chocolate eclair I had to head in the general direction of away. Far enough away that I’d be able to resist the temptation to further contact.

I started making plans, I’d leave by mid-summer 2005. First I planned to quit my job, live on some cash I had stored away and start a new life in a more rough-and-tumble environment: Memphis, New Orleans, Savannah. Somewhere with a river, and docks, and burly stevedores drinking and brawling in equal measure. That morphed into keeping my job but rejiggering it to put me somewhere else on a permanent basis and keep me traveling, keep my mind occupied. Which worked out very well in the short term. Hah.

Let me tell you how happy I am to be back precisely where I fugging started. That willpower thing I mentioned above? It’s a thin, thin membrane. I struggle every day to keep from picking up the phone. I’ve set myself a lifelong ban on traveling to or through York, PA. Which makes it kind of interesting when you’re trying to get to Lancaster from Gettysburg, or from Baltimore to Harrisburg. But it’s been more than a year and I’ve stuck to it so far. Maybe good bourbon stiffens a chocolatey backbone.