Is it just the grass-is-greener effect, or am I really in a dead zone and time for myself? I keep hearing about places that should be better for me -- Germany, California, Europe in general, Texas, etc. They all tell me to move, and I'll meet a life companion, enjoy the weather more, and generally just have a more pleasant life. I am skeptical, but the insistance is enough to make me unsure. I want to try it, but I have ties here, to where I am. I have wanderlust, but still am chained to the now. The people I know, the job I have, my present residence, the way I know how to get around and live tolerably here, they all tell me that I'd be a fool to leave just as life is getting smooth again. I don't want to live in Columbus for the rest of my life, but I don't think I want to leave just yet. If only I had been born a bit earlier or later, or elsewhere...

There is a piece of hair I don't like on my shoulder. It sticks out of the skin, alone. I pull at it. After a few tries, it comes out into my fingers. I drop it. It falls onto my back, the end that was in the skin adhering to it, sticky. It makes an impression.