It’s almost enough to make me forget that I’m pissed.

Of course, this isn’t a constant feeling. My anger hides in the back of my mind and waits until I see a Confederate flag or the newest lineup of terrible, popular movies at the local theater to spring into action. Then, the floodgates open. I retreat into my head. Maybe I call my dad or a friend. If I’m in the car, I turn up my music, sing along and pretend I’m somewhere else. The other day, this very feeling prompted me to buy a bumper sticker that reads “What Would Morrissey Do?” Even if I don’t say a word, in my mind I am complaining and complaining and complaining. In these moments, I do believe that I am an asshole.

I tell you all this because I’m trying to change it. People here are friendly and warm, and they deserve better. I can say my discontent is due to my low pay or my lack of understanding of the genteel South that surrounds me. But that might just be crap. I think I’m still simply having a hard time settling into normal life. I miss my trip. I miss being outside of everyday culture and being able to leave a town whenever I want. I know this sounds like complaining, and I sincerely invite anyone who wants to slap some sense into me to do just that. But my goal here is not to complain. I swear. It’s to ask a question.

How am I going to make my life work? How does anybody?

I want to commit to whatever that answer is. If it means staying here a long while, settling into the down-home atmosphere and writing stuff for the paper I can be proud of, OK. If it means going back to California and waiting tables until I figure out who I want to be, bring it on. If I let go of my fear and worry, I can actually get excited for a moment. Something is going to change soon. It has to. And it has to be new and invigorating enough to get my attention.

For now, here are some pictures of Austin, ones I took months ago. Maybe it seems random, but for some reason the segue works in my head. This is my favorite street in the city, a wooded, residential lane that runs parallel to South Congress Avenue. Even on the days I was terrible at my job, the beauty of this little area always woke me up. This street somehow made me feel like an artist.

OK, time once again to remind myself of the possibility in the world.