I just bought a house in a small town. Population: 200. I moved from Chicago to this town in eastern Kentucky and bought a house.

   I can't really explicate my reasons for making this sudden rash move from the life I had known my entire life to a completely unknown and uncomfortable situation. All I know is that I needed a change. City life had grown much too complicated and bothersome. I couldn't handle the hustle and bustle of commuting or the beggars on the street. I couldn't handle the liars and cheats. I couldn't handle the selfishness and independence. I couldn't understand the attitude and the people ostentatiously dressed walking down the street as if they were the only ones in the world.

   I don't know the minutiae of my new town yet. In fact I haven't even really learned my address, zip code, or phone number. Come to think of it, I'm not sure if I even have a phone. I remember what the kitchen looks like; blue and yellow checker board wall paper and archaic appliances.  I remember the bedroom with a view of the lake. I remember that the living room, which is about the size of my current studio apartment, has a nice wood burning fireplace. And I remember that I paid the down payment and bought a house without even recognizing that I don't know if I'll have a phone number.

   The town is supposedly a great place for fishing. They host the County Fish Festival once a year where some neighboring towns will come over for a huge fish fry. Then there's the beauty pageant where some lucky preteen girl will be crowned Miss Lady Catfish. I guess I'm not really a pro-fisherman. Hell, I'm barely even a dilettante when it comes to casting reels. In fact, I don't even really know what either a cast or a reel are.  But I bought the house already so I guess I'll have to buy some books like "Fishing for Dummies" and start studying.

   I only met a few people when I went down to visit. Well, I mean, I met the real estate agent, his wife, and my neighbor. I met three people when I went to visit. They seemed nice, laconic, but nice. The real estate agent's wife baked me cookies after I signed the lease—oatmeal chocolate chip cookies that melt in your mouth. My neighbor looked at me sideways and murmured something about Yankees under his breath. I don't know if we'll ever get along, but we may as well try since his house will be next to mine. I just hope that he doesn't excoriate me for my music tastes, or art pieces, or passion for silk ties. I mean, I know I'll stand out, but I want to fit in.

   Yeah, I'm going to miss some things about this venerable city. I mean it's been my home now since I was born. I grew up in Bucktown, got married and moved to the Gold Coast, got divorced and moved to Logan Square. My prom was at the Crystal Gardens in Navy Pier. Every inch of this city is part of who I am, but I'm not sure if I want it to be. I know it's completely counterintuitive for a hardcore city boy to uproot himself only to surely stick out like a sore thumb in some one-horse town. I don't even know why a town would even have a horse or if you're supposed to have more than one, so I guess intuition doesn't really play a part of this decision anymore.

   All my stuff is packed and ready for the movers to pick up in the morning. This is my last night here in the Windy City. Is this what they mean when they talk about standing at the precipice of life? I have my life behind me and something else in front of me. I don't know what that is, but I know that nothing from this point on will be the same.

   Someday that old rural town will make sense. I'm sure of it. I'll get a job at the general store and sell grain to people—that is if they even have a general store. I don't even know if people still have general stores instead of supermarkets. Will they have horse-drawn carriages instead of cars? I think I remember seeing a truck, but that may have been a different town I drove through to get there. If there are no general stores I can maybe take care of horses—or the one horse the town may or may not have.

   I bought a house. The house is mine and it's not here. It doesn't matter at this point where it is but it is anywhere but here. Someday this all will make sense. Someday I'll know what the hell I'm doing right now.

   I just bought a house. Maybe I should buy a horse too—just in case.

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