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I am a Rock

So, after a year and a half or so of living in Las Vegas, I’m moving once again. It’s weird. I’ve moved a lot in my life, but for some reason, this time feels different. I feel like Hugh Grant’s character in About a Boy, like every day, every activity in which I involve myself is broken up into smaller units of time, which units I’m slowly running out of. It’s not that any unit of time is any more precious to me than it usually was before I decided to move, more that I’m a lot more aware of these units these days.

Taking a shower: 1 unit.

Going to work: 16 units.

Hanging out with friends: 5 units.

Microwaving Chimichangas: 1 unit.

Reading: Not enough units.

Watching movies: way too many units to count.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe I have become Hugh Grant’s character in About a Boy, only not so British, or man-whorish. Maybe I’ve successfully become an island here in Las Vegas and this move is disturbing the peace on my tranquil little island. Most of my friends are now married, so at most I see them once a week, and my family lives a few thousand miles away, and I guess I’ve become a little too well adjusted to this island life. I do what I want when I want to do it, only associating with the people I’ve chosen to associate with. This move threatens to put an end to all that. I may actually have to leave this hip little island getaway. That is not something I’m looking forward to. Seriously, you should check it out sometime, it puts that island in Pinocchio to shame, mostly because my guests don’t turn into donkeys at the end of the day. A few of them might feel like a jackass, but that’s their own doing. Luke’s Magical Island assumes no responsibility for any feelings of jackassity that may occur as a result of your stay.

What’s most interesting to me is the way people react when they find out I’m moving. First, they ask where I’m moving to. I tell them New York and their eyes light up as they ask, “The city?!” I just smile and nod and they say something like “That’s so cool,” or “Wow!” or “I’ve never been to New York, I’ve always wanted to go,” each of which is followed closely by “So does that mean I can stay at your place when I visit?” To most people, it’s like New York City is some magical place from the movies and TV shows that instantly catapults any resident of that city into some strange category in the upper echelon of society. I’ve been to the city. Sure, it’s cool, but it’s not echelon cool. It’s just an island full of people living as islands. I guess that’s kind of cool.

I don’t think the island thing is really the answer. I mean really, if I can live as an island here, it’ll be a lot easier over there. So why does this move feel so weird? Maybe it’s because it’s the first time in my life that I’m moving somewhere completely foreign, not really knowing anyone in the area, and having no idea where I’m going to live or specifically what I’m going to be doing. That should make me scared, but it’s not fear I’m feeling. I know it’s the right move, it’s the right time, and I’m sure it’ll work out. I’m not scared. Maybe I should be, but I’m not. I can’t even convince myself that I am. It all just feels weird.

Maybe it just means I’m finally entering the “adult” world. Maybe that’s it. Las Vegas is kind of a transitional place. Most of the people I know out here are in that transitional phase of their life between college and career. Maybe this weirdness is just the feeling that comes with leaving that phase behind. Maybe this is the feeling of “growing up.” Maybe this is the feeling of actually becoming an island. Whatever the case, I’m not getting on any stages with strange little boys to sing “Killing Me Softly.”