Long Sunday afternoon of the heart

On the last leg of my most recent journey back to Chicago (after the drive from Carmel to downtown Indy, after the Megabus from there to Union Station, and after the El from there to the Granville stop, on the walk from there to my apartment), I saw the following sign on the door to a barber shop and I had to stop and take a picture: Let's get a closer look: Maybe because I was sleep-deprived, alone, and overly emotional, this sign seemed to speak directly to me. Something about its DIY hand-lettered quality and its overall semi-comical questionable believability (fishing? really??) reminded me of the tour that Kyle and I had just about finished. It still seems unreal to me that we really went out and did what we did. And that we were able--considering costs, work committments, family obligations, the shit-tanking economy, the panic in the publishing industry, etc. etc. etc.--to do what we did at all, and to have had such a fantastic time (I did, anyway) doing it.

Another reason the sign's message felt especially relevant is that I asked for and received an approximately two-month leave from my office job in order to do the tour. Now, having not shown up in my cubicle since January 30, I will report back there as per usual by 8:30 am this coming Monday. So basically, the "go fishing" part of my recent life is just about over, and the "back soon" part is about to begin.

You know that sense of protracted finality you get on a Sunday afternoon or evening after a weekend particularly well-spent? The feeling that the all the fun and freedom you've had is ending, and that all that opportunity you had to do whatever you wanted is, at least temporarily, at an end? This whole week has felt like that. And I actually really love my normal job. I can't imagine how this would feel if I didn't. So thanks to my employer for letting me go away, and, more importantly, to letting me come back; catch you soon, back in Cube City.