June 29th, 2005

(no subject)

At the beginning of the week I made a decision. I felt that while it may not have been the most responsible of choices, it was fitting, and I was going to stick to it. I decided that come Friday, when I was done with work, I would officially have until Tuesday to party as hard as I possibly could, to make sure I went out of Burlington with a Bang. I had to leave in Style. I had to leave hungover and satisfied and pleased with my nineteen year stay. As of Friday, I had nothing left to lose to this town but my single last shred of sobriety, and I decided I felt like taking that with me.

But the more I think about partying, the more I realize how many dues I have left to pay, and how much it worries me. I have seven days to pay my respect to everything that has cradled me for all these years. The mere thought of how well I know this place frightens me when it comes to trying to figure out how to say goodbye to each and every thing in such a small period of time. The fear of leaving itself is what had caused me to procrastinate for so long, and this idea was spawned by immature desires that will get my mind and my life absolutely nowhere.

I'm being torn between life-long boredom and brand new disaster. I'm torn between long-time friends and short-term lovers. I'm torn between and the age of legality and the sparkling appeal of youth. I'm torn between responsibility and desire, and the pluses and minuses of getting what I want one last time before none of it matters anymore. I'm left to realize that no matter what I do, and no matter how momentous it ends up being, it is nothing compared to the day it's all leading up to: the day I change my entire life.

I haven't been able to write, and it has been torture trying to live these last days with so much thought that it's impossible to vent on. The most adventurous and eventful of nights have left me with cherrished but empty memories, because I've lacked the mental capacity to document anything. Right now my life is nineteen years of the same place narrowing down to one week when I have to somehow exert all my energy into loving it so much that it is convinced of my compassion. Somehow I have to prove to this place, to the people in it and the places it holds, and more than I ever have before, that I love it for everything it's done for me. And I figured by making this decision, I could make this week one of the most legendary weeks of my life, making it go down in the history books to stick out like a lollipop stick in a matchbook every time I thought about it. I figured I could make it so amazingly crazy that I would feel it for two weeks after, and remember it for the rest of my life. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that partying wasn't going to get me to that mentality.

I realized that the fact that there was absolutely nothing I could do to show Burlington my love for her was proof enough that I cared more than I could care for anything. I realized that this week wasn't going to stick out as memorable because of any drunken night, successful sex, or legendary breakfast. It was going to stick out simply because of what it was: the very last week I would be spending in the one place I'd spent my entire life.

I love you, B-town.