I’m sitting in the House Cafe in DeKalb, uploading a month’s worth of photos to the internet.  The House Cafe is about a ten minute walk from my house and will probably be where I spend a good amount of my DeKalb time.  I’m discovering a love for iced coffee.  I love coffee anyway, but for some reason, pouring black coffee over ice makes it even easier to drink.

I started my internship today.  I looked classy, but my heels were zebra print, so I guess I’m not totally grown-up yet.  I have an office and a phone extension number.  I sent out an agenda today.  I do love transportation.  This will be a good experience.  But two years in an office just might be enough for me.

I’m moved into my house.  Its small and homey.  I have put almost everything away, but my paintings and statues and other decorative still haven’t found homes.  My room is painted light yellow and it feels warm.  I mean, literally because of the actual heat and no AC, but also because of the colour.  Martha Stewart understands.

I feel like Sal Paradise.  I’m here in DeKalb and I’m happy.  I have a good feeling about being here.  Of course, there are things I miss back in Iowa (and Korea and Sierra Leone and California and St Louis and you get the point) but I feel like DeKalb is the place I should be.  I think I’ll enjoy my job and hopefully classes will go well.  I like the town.  I like being closer to my Chicago Cubs.  Its good here.  But at the same time, I feel the fever of wanting to move.  The subconscious balking at responsibilities that tie me down.  A lease, a comfortable chair in my office, regular places.  A part of me wants to find Dean Moriarty and see where the road takes me.  But I’m here now.  And I will find beauty where I am. Maybe someday I’ll hit the road.  Maybe someday the road will hit me.  Or maybe I’ll just take each moment as it comes. That is life.

Time to go walk home.  And maybe that’s what life is.  Walking home.


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