Itchy Feet

My feet itch even though the poison ivy from the tree hole fall has long gone. I hop on my newest Bike of the Apocalypse, a black cruiser complete with argyle wheel covers. The cruiser rides beautifully, although the single gear has a speed ceiling - I hit that ceiling while pedaling frantically down a hill. The seat springs creak, birds chirp, dogs bark, leaves rustle, and cars hum by along my Tennessee backroads - oh baby, the background craps out a song that I try not to ruin by whistling.

Combine all this with a bad sense of direction and finely tuned disorganization, and I'm ready to go where happiness awaits. It's so simple yet complicated: if you're not as happy as you want to be, then change something. But what if you're not changing according to plan; what if you have to change how you change; what if your very definition of happiness needs to change? A change that can be chased but never pinned down.

I've enjoyed my brief respite in Tennessee. I've invented a dog hybrid kickboard by teaching my Australian shepherd to swim with a kickboard in her mouth while I hold onto her haunches and tread water from behind. I've spent quality time with my parents these last two-and-a-half weeks; I can even fondly reminisce over their constant arguing. I've written, revised, and researched. I've started seeing that most people have the same basic wants and sense a power behind this, a route towards becoming more human. And, of course, I've gotten in a few bike rides, that lightness of being with the wind rushing through my hair.

And still my feet are itchy. It's time to go - Chicago, Detroit, possibly Canada, and then? Between now and mid-August, my only firm plans are helping my ex switch to a nearby apartment (while stowing away the last vestiges of my ever having lived in Chicago in a duffle bag), going to the Green Mill to drink Van Winkle and watch the poetry slam, and hanging out with one of my best writer friends. My one goal is to make it to Detroit before my 24th birthday. I don't know what will come, and I don't want to, because my feet keep itching, and that's just fine.