Today was my last day living in Morristown. I doubt I will ever live there again, but you never know. It still has not quite sunk in. I am writing this from my Dad’s house, laying on the floor in the computer room that was once my room before I moved out. I have done this before when down for the weekend. But, instead of packing up my shit and driving back to Morristown tomorrow to start the work week, I’ll head over to Amanda’s, where I’ll be living until she drives me to JFK on Feb. 12.
Maybe it was the time constriction, the significance of the last day in town, or just that Friday was my last day as an editor for Patch. But, today I felt like for the first time I was a person in Morristown, not the editor covering a 24/7 journalism site that always has to look at something through the lens of Patch and the story. And, it felt great. To think, I was so close to just telling my friend Kendra I was going to punk out of the Super Hero 4-Miler run after some homeless guy gave me shit because I took his seat that apparently had his name on it.
“It takes all kinds,” he said after sitting in the same kind of comfy chair that was right next to one I sat in while he was outside.
“Have a nice life,” I said as I took my coffee back to Kendra’s.
Luckily, I fought that urge. Boy, what a sour taste leaving Morristown like that would have been. I would not have gotten the neato shirt they gave all the runners. And, I wouldn’t have memories like this:
It was nice to separate Morristown from work. Given more time, I think it would only grow, this enjoyment. Never rule anything out in the future. Who thought I would be going to Korea a third time? Well, except for me.