this is Crossroads Mall in Oklahoma City.

I spent many hours here flirting with girls looking at Michael Jordan posters as a child teenager.

but that’s not what this is about.

it’s about a crossroads.

but notice I didn’t put a poignant photo of some road less traveled.

I don’t know why I did that – maybe I’m better than you.

as I sit here in this house on Portland Island, Southern UK, I find myself in a situation defined by many long words – for reasons I can only assume being that perhaps the big and vague definitions might detour one away from realizing how crap said situation can be.

but let’s look at them, shall we?

‘conundrum’

‘crux’

… okay, there were only two that came to mind, but still. and they all start with ‘c’ which interests me… anyway. seriously. someone wanted you to pay more attention to the words-with-friends possibility of this than admitting that wow – yes. things have a good chance of turning out to be poop.

and so, I sit here, in another house that’s not mine. out behind me, to my right, is the harbor where a little red boat lies. to my left is the cafe I make beers for people who I don’t know. there’s a bus, the #1 that takes me into town, as well as the train station where I’ve come to be happy for. and up those train tracks, 3 hours north to London Town is the-girl-with-the-great-name.

but this isn’t about that.

this is about things that are temporal. and things that aren’t.

or – maybe it’s about other stuff.

see, in about a month, most of those things will cease being my norm. I’ll say goodbye to this quirky island for a while, hopefully returning with more pennies and vittles, but not too long as the little red boat likes to go. the #1 bus will thankfully be a thing of bitter nostalgia and I’ll always want for train rides through Southern England.

the girl I’m holding onto.

and she’s hanging onto me – which is weird. and sometimes I don’t know why.

but nonetheless, it’s where I am at… correction – it’s where we’re at.

and we both find ourselves at the very annoying beginning of what could possibly be an adventure.

wait.

I did this wrong.

I was going to list all of the annoying things about being at a crossroads/conundrum/crux and then finish it off with a traditional fantastic sentence which makes you go ‘gosh, he sure is good with the whole blogging thing with traditional fantastic endings!’, but I got lost there somewhere.

fuck.

I like being at a crossroads. it’s sick and could go horribly wrong [usually it does], but it’s kind of, well…

fun.

['did you read that last line, honey? he ended it with just saying 'fun' - ha! where does he come up with this stuff?]