Back to New Orleans

So I'm on my way back to New Orleans. On my way out of Mississippi.
I take with me a short list of fondly remembered magical days. A short list of heartbreaking episodes that taught me important lessons. A short, cherished list of people I met here who I will never forget (and a shorter sublist of people I hope will never forget me...).
Even with my lists, I am more and more convinced that coming to Mississippi was a mistake. This is not to say I should not have come -- if I hadn't come I would not have my short lists. And this experience, like all experiences, helped make me who I am today.
It is a mistake in the way that during a performance I discover that a particular turn of phrase or chord progression in a new composition "doesn't work." Through the mistake I discover a better choice. My life is a work in progress, a development project, a poem unfolding. I'm not reaching for an eraser: I'm crossing out a few words, editing a few line breaks, fine tuning the syntax.
A friend once told me that it takes two years to really and truly become a settled resident of a place. I spent 14 months in New Orleans and 15 months in Gulfport. If my friend's calculation is right, I am in my 7th year of nomadic sojourn; I'm still homeless.
But I love New Orleans and, in my heart, this move feels like going home. I look forward to celebrating a two-year anniversary there.

Snippet

They offered me the job.

I accepted.

I'm on my way back to New Orleans.

I think.


There persists a strong, pervasive sense that none of this is real. Maybe it's because I've wanted it for so long, the transition to "dream realized" is difficult.


Maybe it's depression.


Maybe I'm psychic.


I am feeling stronger every day. Look at me: it's not even 10 yet and I've eaten breakfast, walked to the post office and on to the library! Not to mention finding the focus to make a blog entry in this less-than-ideal setting. Amazing.

Yesterday I had a stressful telephone conversation. A woman who recently made a mistake at my expense. She "apologized" when I mentioned it to her at the time and again a few days later in a couple of voicemails she left. For a couple of reasons (that I only came to consciously understand during our conversation yesterday), I never actually said "I accept your apology" and she was very bothered about this. "Are you going to accept my apology so I can move on?" she asked.

Ya know what? The thought of writing any more about that episode makes me tired. How do you think it ended?