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2005-07-05 - 8:34 p.m.

I met the girl who saved me in the flesh on Independence Day weekend 1996. So long ago. We still call each other sometimes and about a month ago, she asked me what I was going to do for July 4th this year. I said I would probably cry. That�s what I did in most subsequent years. Even sometimes when I was with Alithea.

But I didn�t this year. Well, really, I didn�t do much of anything for July 4th. A friend came over and we drank a bottle of wine (it was American wine, if you�re tracking patriotism). Providence didn�t even have fireworks. They were the night before, presumably so as not to compete with Boston�s over-the-top display.

No barbecues, no parties. It was just another day. I talked to N. twice, before and after my drunk. I reminded her she�s beautiful; I always do cause she always is. I�ve said it before, but I�m more in love with her than I ever thought it was possible to be. I didn�t cry because I�m not tying myself to a dream of the past anymore.

Why did I get so emotional in previous years? Mostly, I was simply longing for what I thought I�d never have again. Someone who loved me. Someone who cared enough to put a lot of effort into coming to see me. I thought maybe there wouldn�t be anyone like that again.

It was wrong of me to hang onto that for so long. Wrong to her. She went on with her life, almost got married at one point, moved, got a new job, a new boyfriend. It wasn�t right to not let go for all that time. I love her very much; she saved me in a way I didn�t even realize I needed. Now it�s finally time to put that behind me. And I�m very happy that she�s offered to help with N.�s (and probably my) impending relocation and enter a new incarnation in my life.

I�m more and more certain I�m going to move to Chicago with N. (well, we probably wouldn�t live together immediately). What�s really left for me in Providence? A few school mates who are graduating next year. A few friends who mostly don�t return my calls. I tend to know the sort of people who just don�t answer the phone. I know it�s nothing personal, but it still hurts. Often this city is a shiftless, shuffling backwater. Of course the Station nightclub burned down and killed 100 people. Change the fire insulation? Eh, why bother�

I�ve realized that nothing is really tying me to a particular place. My business can be started from anywhere with a phone and computer. Cell phone and laptop, if you want to be high-tech. Yeah, it�s cold in Chicago, but it�s cold in New England too. I know a few people there: the singer of Fat Day, the birthday girl friend of C., even the girl who saved me. A good friend from Brown grew up there and still lives there sometimes. A favorite professor, with whom I took a course on �The History of Chicago� as well as my �American Masculinities� class, is a rabid partisan.

So it�s not complete terra incognita (who do I know in a place like LA even?). But it�s still scary. I mean, just the practicalities. I�ve learned how to do day-to-day stuff where I am. Formerly simple, unthought-of tasks. Doing laundry (I get it picked up and delivered � not much more expensive and well worth it). Getting groceries (I was just delighted to find out that there�s Peapod in Chicagoland!). How will I move my scooter out there?

I don�t even really know what neighborhood is what. I hear that all the cool kids live in Wrigleyville, but a friend said that I actually don�t want to live there for that exact reason. I�d be surrounded by 22-year old frat boys puking on stoops, instead of families with kids and stuff. I�m afraid I�m just too old for too. Much. Party! Dude.

If you have any advice on where I should live (or how, even), please email me with the link to the left. As Kirkegaard, or maybe Frank Sinatra, said: �Chicago is my kind of town�.

� 2005 Geoff Gladstone

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