Holy F*cking Crap

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This may be the last thing that
I write for long
Can you hear me smiling as I
Sing this song,
For you?

So a few things happened this week. Monday morning I decided I had had enough of lawn care and shed my job like a virulent Kordell Stewart jersey. I decided on this course of action while, in fact, on the way to work. So yes, you're assuming correctly--I had no real money, no plan, and no other job prospects.

No, wait. I DID have another job prospect. Just 3,000 miles away in LA. Out of the question. Mom is sick. I feel brothers are in need of guidance. Other brother coming home in May. Family reunion in June. Can't go nowhere.

Until June!

I have told myself that I've been waiting to move to LA because I needed to save money in case something happened and I was without a job. Then a few thoughts occurred to me out of the blue. One, I'm waiting to move because I'm saving money to go out and take a job that will make me more money (mull that one over for a second). Two, because of One, I'm a huge embarrassing p*ssy. With those realizations in hand, I quickly extrapolated a brilliant plan from my inner gray matter...work two part-time jobs until June, give the Big F*ck-All to saving anything, and go out and take your job. I call my LA Guru. Come in June, job waiting. Done Deal. I quit work. OK, so I quit work before I set any of the previously mentioned into motion...minor detail. I'm excited.

Long story short: stuff happens, plans change, and I'm moving to LA this Saturday. For good.

No I will not explain. Just trust me.

The main point is this: as stated, I've been a huge d*uching b*tch about this relocation thing. I've been making a lot of excuses--some valid, some not, but all excuses--for not leaving for a good year or so now. This is the best way for it to go down--I pack the hell up and leave. Done. No time to think. I feel good. I'm nervous. I'm anxious. I'm excited. Mostly, though, I'm so scared out of my ever-loving skull that one wispy, errant Spring breeze might cause me to fill my drawers.

But Holy Weeping Jesus on the Cross, I'm finally taking control of my life. Remember the post I wrote a while back where I was feeling all sorry for myself and whining about the Captain's Chair and boo hoo all over it? Yeah, so now I'm actually doing something. I'm not even on the plane yet and already I can feel myself stepping off the curb and into the parade...instead of just watching idly as it passes by me. And I know I'm lucky.

It almost passed completely.

I want to write about the cash Friday I just had in NJ with my college buddies which, incidentally, featured a good portion of the night where we punched through all the walls in Keith's attic ("No, it's cool, really, we can beat the sh*t out of 'em."). I want to write my damn Yankees article. I NEED to write about Real World San Diego and The Inferno. But for a little while, a few weeks at least, I'm going to hang up the Blogging and get my ass to work. I always thought people were stupid when they said that sh*t about getting what you always wanted and it being the most scariest thing ever. But those people are right. It's absolutely terrifying. In a good way.

I want to thank a few people who have helped me out over the past few days. Some of them will see this, some of them won't, but it doesn't matter, because the "Thank You" is 100% heartfelt and 200% deserved:

Tim, Eric, Hannah, T. Richardson Brown, Banker, Jen, Cousin Carrie, and most of all, God most of all, Mom and Dad. They've helped me be able to say something I was never quite sure I was going to be able to say...

I've got to pack now.

Aye, for a ship is safe in the harbor. But that is not what ships are made for.