Y'know, I've thought of Albuquerque as one of my possible "places to retire to" ever since those citymatch quizzes came out (remember the ones that told you to move to some wonderfully boring suburban part of Connecticut or Oregon?) and it came up as the only viable match on the list. But this just makes me smile. Albuquerque, you so crazy.
I still have no idea where I'd like to live for the now, though. I love New York City, and I'm in love with the Hudson River Valley, though I'd like to live somewhere cheaper and well, more midwestern. Becca's always asking me where I want to go, and I'm never sure. I miss Louisville (I was too young to get to know KC), and I kind of idolize my time there (and idealize). I also like living in the middle of fuckall New York (saying "bumblefuck" is so passé) yet still being within three hours' stab of The City. North Jersey's been home this week to the most spectacular lightning storms (again, reminding me of Louisville) that I, in my new digs with the big south-facing windows, have been in the perfect spot to witness. But I can't stay in New Jersey. I'd miss speed limits above 55 mph. I can't do less than 70, you and I both know that. I need fast driving through open spaces, guns and bowhunting supplies, and fishable waters. It's my heritage as a Heartland American.
My bosses were talking about birthday parties this morning, and how hectic they end up being, even when they're your own; what with kids running around and far-flung relatives imposing themselves. I just kicked back in my chair and thought about blowing off the world to go fishing on my birthday. I'd like the freedom to kick back and fish all day long without seeing a soul, peace and quiet just between me and the lake. I wonder if that's out there. I wonder if it's waiting for me.