Circling the Black Hole

So, I graduated from college. I successfully walked across a stage without tripping, shook hands with the president, and was handed a red folder containing a really expensive piece of paper.  I'm an academic, despite the chronic senioritis displayed in hundreds of Facebook status updates over the last year. I've been accepted to graduate school for Creative Writing in Alaska. Sure, it's not the most practical of goals or places, but being an academic doesn't mean you're practical. For me, it's exactly the opposite. Practicality has never given me anything good to write about.

I deferred admission to Alaska for a year, and my lease was officially up on Saturday. I'm homeless and on the move. First stop - my hometown in east Texas. I call it the "Black Hole" because it tends to suck you back in no matter how hard you try to run away. It was a nice place to grow up, but it's not exactly the place you want to be when you're 22. Here I am again though. I've spent the last three summers bouncing in and out of this place. I have no connections in the Black Hole as far as family goes, not in the traditional sense anyway. It's more like a system of extended families where I feel like I can pretend to be their 2nd or 3rd daughter for a couple nights.
 
This town is full of characters though. For instance, I'm sitting in Starbucks (however cliche that may be) right now. Outside the window, is a man in his thirties with a Confederate flag tattoo on his upper arm, shown because of his cut-off t-shirt. There are chains hanging out of the back pocket of his Wranglers, so I assume he's some sort of confused cowboy. He probably was born here, grew up here, married somebody from here. That's what people do here. Some people swear it's something in the water. I'm not so sure, but I plan on avoiding whatever it is.

So, I won't stay in the Black Hole for long. I can only allow myself succumb to the centrifugal force for so long. Soon, it'll be time to move on. For now, I'm just floating.