The Drowning Man

Have you ever dreamed of drowning, being underwater and knowing that somewhere above you there was air and plenty of it, clutching fistfulls of water as you struggle to break the surface and knowing that no matter how hard you try you're always ten feet away? Then you wake up and realize that it was all a cruel, terrible dream; but you also know that no matter how hard you struggle and work to avoid it during the day, to buy your way into a better one, that when you get home and lay down you're likely to get the same story, served cold again to you that night.

This is how I feel about Baton Rouge, La.

I'm leaving this city, finally and hopefully for good. I feel like a robber who sets up a tent in the vault of the bank he's just knocked off...for almost two years I've had the nagging suspicion that no real progress could be made while I live within walking distance of my old haunts, but filed it away as some passing malaise that would fade with time. Tiger football! Right? If that's the only reason I'm still here, I'm a moron.

It's not, of course. And there's only three months until my curtain call, grand finale, encore performance in B.R. Then off to a new stage, a new place to exist, and one that will likely foster my talents instead of suppressing them. Thanks for nothing, Jigga City.