The gnaw

"Put on your shoes, girl - I'm going to the coast. Where every loser gives up what hurts the most" - Aimee Mann


I'm not too sure if this is the correct verbage of the song. I'm too tired to verify it via a Google search that will flood my laptop with a ton of pop-ups. Anyway - my apartment is lonely right now. My roommate headed out east for a job. His ass-groove is still in the couch, but the door to his room is wide open, displaying a huge room with drab, cream carpeting. I looked at buying a dog and staying here, but I kept feeling 'the gnaw.'

The gnaw seems to be affecting a lot of people here in Omaha. I talked with this one girl who works at a record shop. She's considering moving to San Diego. She thinks it's 'ok' here. But she would feel more at home in San Diego - at least, that's what she believes.

Me, I've been debating this for ages. Too long, actually. And there's a reporting position open that I will apply for as of tomorrow. Even though it goes against my character to up and leave a job that I only started six weeks ago. I know the risks - I saw Network. I realize that journalism is a ferocious beast that chews you up because it's a business that grooms thousands of hungry writers a year to happily accept jobs that pay Wal-Mart-type salaries. But it's cool because nothing beats the camraderie of a newsroom. And you can live off of books, cheap vodka, coffee and free appetizers at bars.

I realize it may cost me a house. A car. A student loan.

But for the first time in ages, this just feels like the next natural progression of my life.

Oh yeah, I gotta get the job first.