One Broken Toe
It had been building, but I sort of left on a whim. I would have regretted it if I hadn’t, no matter what. That was one of the biggest persuading factors; fear of regreting a missed opportunity. The main persuading factor was fun, pure fun. Somehow, I’d been working since I was 14, non-stop, and I’d held something like 24 different jobs, some I’d been good at and some I hadn’t, but always chasing the buck. Working is good, constructive, blah blah, the American Dream and having not worked for this period, I now see how critical it is to have a pursuit, goal, objective, responsibility, and a paycheck (if not for the money, for feeling at the end of the day). But to not work, I wanted to try that. So it was time for some fun. I paid for 8 months in the storage unit upfront, thinking for sure I’d be back before then. It took 11 months and now, finally, I’m on a couch someplace familiar. I’d been waiting to feel like I was heading home for a while. I knew I was coming home, eventually, but I was pretty well occupied, so it seemed too distant to be real. Now it’s real and I’m slightly stunned and slightly euphoric and slightly jetlagged. I’m back to people I know and who know me.
I broke my toe by jamming it in the dirt in Hossegor. It is fine now. Otherwise no major physical malfunctions. Very glad for that; back in one piece.
