The Streets Have No Name

by Berck

I miss the night. Staying up late meandering about the internet and listening to music has always been one of my favorite activities. When I’m a little sleepy, a little free, a little dark… what I want to do is write. I’m not any good at it anymore, mostly because I don’t do it. I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.

I wonder if, perhaps, I’m stressed. While I don’t feel stressed, it seems like I should be. Maybe I’m a bit anxious. My job is going to be gone in September, and I could have the same job for twice the money in a few months, or I could be totally out looking for work. The looking for work doesn’t bother me too much in that I can find something utilizing my skills that pays at least what I make now. But there’s Jonah. She doesn’t know what she wants, and as far as I can tell, this is the only job she’s had that she likes. To find another job, I’d almost assuredly have to move. For the first time in my life, I don’t want to move yet. This is new. If I did move, it would have to be to Alaska– where else?

What do I want to do? I’m pretty sure I don’t want to be a flight instructor forever. I grow restless with it– as though it’s time for something new. I wonder how long a change of scenery 60 miles south (where the scenery isn’t as pretty) would keep me content. I worry about making that much money– it’d be really hard to walk away from it. But when I die, I want to have done more than be a DA-20 pilot. I want to do something cool like fly an otter on skis, or a fire-bomber.

It’s almost as though I’ve settled back into the nether-world of not knowing what I want. The importance of having a goal isn’t important like so many people say it is, but it offers a certain sort of comforting distraction. The difference this time is that I’m happy where I am. It’s just that I’d rather be struggling toward something.

Perhaps I need something new to tinker with. Maybe it’s time to buy a cheap motorcycle– it’s just that I’m not ready to die, and buying a motorcycle is embracing death a bit more closely than I already do on a day to day basis.

I wonder how many times I can listen to this song before Jonah gets mad.

In many ways, I hate that I have a blog. I shouldn’t have a blog. I hate blogs. Don’t I?

It’s not spring yet, but I think winter is dead. Sadly, I missed the best it had to offer while wallowing around in the south. It was something of a mistake, spending so much time in the south. My mother tried to warn me, I should have listened. Not that I minded spending time with any of you, just that it was too long. If I was going to take a month off, I should have driven to South America or something. I felt guilty about having been so long without visiting family, but I think a much more sane policy will be that family can come to us if they want– it works better that way. Joanna and Sydney agree, at least.

It’s not warm out yet, not time for the hard tops to come off the cars, but it’s not winter either. The snow storms have turned into pathetic little tantrums that give into the sun before they even develop. I hate this nether-region. I want it to be cold, or I want it to be t-shirt weather. (But, please, please, not hot.) It’s February, but I think I would be okay if I never again experience temperatures greater than 75F.

Why should you read this? You shouldn’t.

I don’t mind living in an apartment, but I want a cat and a garage. And that means a house. Maybe we’ll buy a house if I get hired down south. There’s something fascinating about standing where I am, with a September deadline. The anxiety seems like it should be there, but there’s a morbid fascination with possibility. I see any number of possibilities for a year from now. I could be working and making money and paying off debt and living right here with little else being different. I could have a job for some crappy airline, commuting to work on airliners, getting paid nothing, but getting some precious multi time and invaluable experience while sitting in the right seat with someone who will keep death an arm’s length from the left seat. I could be desperate, out of work, broke. It’s all there, all a possibility. What do I want? Does it matter what I want?

We wait all day for night to come, and it comes…

One Response to “The Streets Have No Name”

  1. noe Says:

    oh b, reading this reminds me why you’re one of the people in life i just love. i hope you find what you’re looking for, but more than anything i’m glad you and joanna have each other to share the ride. and i think you have a strange ability of finding magic wherever you go (if that makes any sense at all)… um, yes… that’s all. peace friend…

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