10) ‘vanderlyle crybaby geeks’ by the national

I have so many feelings when it comes to this song. The period of Sad was almost over. There was a chance that I could go back to Hopewell and move back into my old house. Almost everything could go back to normal. I wanted it. I needed it.

I resolved to leave North Carolina when my lease was up, and no one had rented my room in Richmond. I didn’t hear a definite from Hopewell, but I was going back. I couldn’t be there another minute. So many things felt wrong and went wrong, and I saw this as a way to leave Richmond correctly.

I was still looking for jobs as I worked on if and when I’d go back to Hopewell. My goal was to go back, make my mark and give 120 percent again and leave it and Richmond wholly on my own terms the next time. There was not going to be a snap decision or a prolonged goodbye.

High Violet was i heavy rotation as I plotted this out. I thought about the first four lines of “Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks” kinda summed up my post-college life, although I only spent one year living alone.

Then there’s that refrain: “All the very best of us string ourselves up for love.” It made me think of all the stupid things I did over that past year for love, especially the love of journalism. It nearly killed me, and for all the wrong reasons.

There are only redemption shots in beer pong, I said at the time. I hope I’m wrong.

Early one July afternoon, the day after my last day at work, I shoved all my belongings in my car once again and headed back to the house I had begun to call home. The first place I had ever officially lived after moving out of my mom’s house. Seriously. I voted absentee in Hampton for about 3½ years because I just couldn’t commit to my first apartment or the house I shared with a coworker for about year and a half.

I officially didn’t have a job yet, but I had enough money at the time to pretty much get myself through July. I pulled away from that house while playing this song. I did not look in the rear view mirror until I was completely out of the neighborhood.

Next: Every word’s a whisper without you.

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