I got this itch; it's been gettin' worse over the last couple of months. I've been scratchin' it with every sharp-edged piece-a-shit I've been able to get my paws on, but fuck, man. Ain't nothin' cuttin' this mustard.

I can't put my fucking finger on it. It's one of those things, ya know? You just can't explain it. I assumed trading off all that time spent drifting around drunk, for what's now turning into a career, as an effort that would somehow get my life in order. It's the persistence of this deep-down urge that's made me realize changing the curtains doesn't alleviate blight.

I've gotta get my mind in order, first. Simple enough to acknowledge; a little more difficult to actually address.

I need a change of scenery. This place is rotting. I can smell it in my coffee; I can taste it in my cigarettes. I've started drinking again. This place is fucking bad for me. And while I've had this thought before, actually acting on it seemed so far away; it was a nice little fantasy to fall back on when things felt shitty. At the most, it was a comfortable plan-b.

I'll give it until April. After I graduate, Ohio's the first stop. I'll attend Lincoln Electric for a number of welding certifications, work for a year or so, and move on to a different state. I figure I'll keep on like that for a few years; acquiring as many certifications and licenses as possible in as many different settings as possible, before returning to school for engineering. Then I'll set up shop in Detroit and live out my days restoring Victorians and Second Empires.

Maybe it's a pipe dream. But it's the only thing that makes any fucking sense.