The times they are a changing...

Went downtown. Saw the new crop of girls. The high school shirts, the perfume. The bewilderment. Some frat boy is going to have the time of his life tonight.

The perfume of these fresh-off-the-bus beuties is intoxicating. But it means what it always does. Things are different now.

I went to my old place on 13th and D. The last vestiges of a year hung in the air. A broom and a can of Raid are the only proof I ever lived here and soon those will be in the garbage. The freezie pops and beers and cigarettes in one short burst. This was my home for one year and now it is irrelevant. Can't help but remember a year ago.

Nostalgia is my worst vice.

That last semester of college. When I weighed less than I do now. The terror of lucid dreams. The memories of coffee inspired heartburn. The all nighters. These are now things of the past. Left to this new generation of busty young girls and their predatory frat boys and all those English major otherings.

I told my parents today how close I am to being in the Peace Corps. Mom was shocked. Dad was supportive. I'm sure she'll come around. This is the right thing to do, right? It doesn't matter. Because the this is the wrong thing to do. To be caught up in shallow memories worn and cracked under the wheel of time. This is the wrong thing to do. To work at the same pizza place for three years. This is the wrong thing to do. To become anxious around human contact and count the moments until it ends.

I am completely intent on signing my life over to the Peace Corps. I've done the math. I've done the pro's and con's. I've dissected and rearranged and analyzed this thing from a hundred different angles. This is the thing to do. This is the right thing to do. This is what will be done.