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My last day of living in Santa Cruz has arrived. Well, it's done more than arrived -- it's nearly come and gone...

I always thought that my last day here would be a sort of sentimental scavenger hunt -- get kombucha at New Leaf, people-watch at Pergolessi, give a bum a nickel, etc. Instead, I woke up early and got right to cleaning my apartment. My fridge is officially empty except for my liquid calcium and my caffeine-free diet Safeway cola, and my bedroom is completely cleared out except for my mattress, which now sits on my floor. (There's something so pathetic about my current sleeping situation, I feel. I never thought about it before, but now that my box spring is in the dumpster and my comforter has been dropped off at Goodwill, I can't help but feel overwhelmingly lonely at night while I do my damndest to bundle up under one thin, dirty sheet and wonder why it's been such a gloomy, cold July.) My shower tiles have been doused in bleach over and over, and yet there's still mildew in one unruly corner. Everything must be spic and span for tomorrow morning's walk-through inspection with my landlord.

No. I did not have quite the sentimental scavenger hunt I had always thought I would.

It's okay, though, because right now I'm at The Best Place In The World: KZSC Santa Cruz. Yup. Never again will I have access to hundreds of CD's that I can store on my iTunes for free. It would be stupid of me if I didn't take advantage of this privilege one more time before my long drive tomorrow.

It's strange. I was worried that coming here this afternoon would depress me. That I would feel like I didn't belong. That things would have already moved on without me. That my presence here no longer mattered, and never really did.

Not true.

I feel as comfortable here right now as I ever have. In fact right now, I feel more comfortable here than I do at my own apartment. I mean, my apartment is completely torn apart and in the middle of a hardcore sterilization process. I've had enough of that for now. It was time to get out, and I know that I made the right choice by coming here. Everything is on pause. I'm surrounded by excellent music in a tiny cabin in the redwoods. There's a candy machine and a coffee maker. (Yes, I've had a mug of coffee. I had to, for old time's sake. Hopefully I won't fall off the wagon and have ten more.) There's internet access and a couch. And yeah, there are memories. Tremendous ones. Some magnificent, some heinous, but all of them important.

At this point I could label this post "Masturbatory Self-Indulgence," but let me save myself by saying this: if you have an inkling to try something new and creative, do it. You just might fall in love with it. That's how it was for me with radio. One day before I went back to school for junior year I decided, "I'm gonna be on the radio."

I tried it. I got hooked on it. I've now had the experience of total unadulterated artistic freedom, and I'll never be the same again.

(I've now had three cups of coffee and my heart is beating a bit fast and I can't stop biting my nails and I think it's time to have one more fun-size Milky Way before I head back to my apartment to continue scrubbing the shit outta every room.)