Long time no see. If you had really cared at all, you would have written, or at least called, right? Or perhaps it is best to just move on and forget what we once had: any semblance of friendship, shared interests, good conversations — let them lie in peace and keep on truckin\’, solo, into the great unknown.
Every night, technically, I become a shaman. I learned this last month while a certain furry Scotsman was visiting me. We spoke of tripping and ego death. Apparently, when you hallucinate to the point of passing out, it is then that you experience enlightenment and become a shaman. Teacher, student, pacifier to be sucked dry on all bereaved occasions. When the sky is dark and the clock strikes late, I am watching the world around me morph into that other reality of splendid drug-induced vision. Every night for the past three years my ego has died. Perhaps that is why I feel so constantly deflated. Enlightenment ain\’t easy, particularly when you tend to envision all the people who have come and gone from your life this year: my grandmother, my lover\’s daughter, my baby cousins, various friends, a city in the stars. What is it that I am looking for? One day I may find out.
It\’s been silent here, and elsewhere. Silent in all places except on the homefront. Not three months ago did we move into this new apartment and only recently have we finished furnishing it. All for naught, apparently, as in three more months everything will be sold, stored, or shipped to the other side of the world. It turns out that we are moving to Australia. Queensland. Brisbane. Living on the river under palm trees in a tropical climate that sees no hurricanes. I\’m enticed. Going to school at the same university my lover will be working at. Both of us commuting via ferries, waverunners, and scooters. No cars. No winters. Our own private pool. Trips to the Outback, Shanghai, Manila, as we see fit. Many more stamps in our passports. Visas that do not receive monthly bills. Pub life and year round suntans. Cheap acupuncture and chiropracty. A chance to escape my national health history here, where it follows me as though it were a former incarceration that I am trying to hide evidence of, and literally start anew with no federal record. Freedom and palm fronds. Shake your g-string covered moneymaker, ex-pat baby, and take it on down.
We have three months to sell our cars, sell our shit, ship \”necessary\” accoutrements in giant crates out of the port of Baltimore, break our lease, find the rats new homes, say goodbye to friends and family, get our visas in order, and other such trivial things. I\’ve had to quit modeling almost entirely, which is a shame seeing as how busy it was keeping me. I\’m all work and no play, all drive and no driving, too much focus right through the tunnel. We visited New York last week and I barely remember. I was meant to return to Pittsburgh for next weekend but now I don\’t care that I have to cancel. Other than the Scotsman, Mattie, and the Elders, I haven\’t spoken to any of my \”friends\” in over a month. Sing tootaloo my darlin\’.
We leave right after Christmas. Our first summer under the equator. I\’m digging it. It\’s still summer here and we still haven\’t had our housewarming party. Now our plans for the housewarming are bleeding into the going-away soiree. Looks like there will be a doubleheader come September. An Australian themed DC bbq next to our temperate climate pool before it closes for the autumn. I\’ll be in Priscilla-style drag, complete with elaborate head dress and lip-syncing to \”I Don\’t Care if the Sun Don\’t Shine.\” My bad Dr boyfriend will be burnt from the coal fumes and swigging American bourbon by the half gallon, but we will be happy. See ya later, alligators, but not if I see you first.
