Wednesday, October 10, 2007

The Scene of the Crime

I felt I was ready. It has been several years since I spent any time here, discounting of course the whirlwind 48 hours last fall for the football draft. Fantasy football draft party is essentially the same as bachelor party, just without a groom. Actually, not to digress, but maybe that is why the draft party has become such a big deal. Men seem to actually enjoy the preparation (i.e. research on the Internets and overpriced yet always wrong magazines) as opposed to selecting china patterns and linen. And the actual event is rarely cause for tears or glad-handing long forgotten relatives. Anywho, I am back in Colorado; a place that is as much a part of me as her or them. Just driving over the eastern state line heightens my mood. Somehow the air is better, the sky clearer. It’s the West, not the Mid West. Needless to say, I miss it tremendously. The problem is the memories. It seems that everywhere I go, she is there.

Like I said, I felt I was ready. I took this job largely because I could include Colorado in my territory and have a reason rather than an excuse to visit several times a year. Most of you will be shocked to realize that perhaps I made a bad decision. I am not ready for this. Over the last two days I have retraced footprints left years ago and unfortunately the emotions are as fresh as ever. Our houses that we lived in together. The parks we used to walk to together. The local pub. The local restaurant. Hell, even the dog park brought me to my knees. As great as it is to see old friends and business acquaintances, I fear the reward is completely trumped by the emotional cost. It all just makes me think about what could have been had I made the right choices. The choices that a rational adult would make, not the childish bullshit choices I made. Hell, I could be living amongst my friends with a nice home and a shitload of fantastic worldly goods. Instead I dwell in Mom’s basement with a storage unit full to the gill of boxes that have been neglected for years. I used to have many things and little remorse. Now the opposite is true. Obviously, worldly goods are not the answer, but I can assure you that obscene levels of regret and remorse are not either. Why it took me until now to understand just how good I had it, I will never know. I like to think that there was a reason for it, but as I continue my search, I cannot come up with one, or at least none has revealed itself to me. Maybe tomorrow, but forgive me if I do not hold my breath.

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