It's a little ironic, if we want to see it that way.
Last night I thought about how Missoula disappointed me. This was supposed to be the place where I would fit in and be happy and have one million friends and have a great time. Our happiness depends greatly on our expectations, that's what my mom always says. Missoula didn't disappoint me. I'm more disappointed in myself for not making it the place where I belong. Because I could have. But now I'll make Flagstaff the place where I belong and that will be that. And it'll be great, it will.
When Clark questions me and he looks at me through those really intense blue eyes, I have to look away because I am talking myself in circles, like some research paper without a well-defined thesis. Why am I moving? Here's my list, and here's the things not on my list, and here's the reasons why I don't want to stay, and here's the reasons why I want to go.
There's some things I will do differently there, things I learned here. There's things I'll learn there that I will do differently afterwards wherever I am.
It feels like I am just trying to figure out what song to play next on the radio. Which will go well after the last. Only right now I feel like I am talking in the mic, talking in circles, not knowing where to begin or where to end and trying not to say "before that" even though I said it anyway. Twice. I don't know how to end or where to end it and I earn my DJ name, and it is The Awkward Hour. That's how I feel right now.
It's like looking back at my Spinitron playlist when I get home, just as the morning sun touches the courtyard. I pick out the songs I like, and I assess the show overall. It's like wanting to put on Bose headphones to block out the sound of my thoughts. It's like knowing but not really truly knowing I won't touch KBGA's soundboard anymore. Knowing it like a fact, like that there are starving children in Africa, but not actually understanding it.
It's like when something comes on way louder than you expect it and it hurts your ears and makes you jump and your heart rate takes some time to come back down, only that relief of the silence afterwards hasn't happened yet. So don't ask me why it's too late, it just is. But it's okay. KBGA will be fine without Stutter McStumblepants...and Stutter McStumblepants will be alright without KBGA, too. We'll write letters.
We'll write letters.
What a mess of a blog post.
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