Island Living... better than Mainland Dying.

Funny title yeah?

So I got some offers from some different places. I chose my boss. His name is Todd. Pretty cool guy.

I'm Texas A&M at Galveston's newest Student Development Specialist II. I live on campus in Hullabaloo Hall and it is my distinguished job to run the RA program, work in housing and I also run the pool located in the middle of this harbor campus.

I'm not going to kid, I was sorta on the edge of freaking out in my first couple days here. I'm told everyone starting a new job has the "holy shit what did I just get myself into?" moments. I've had like 5.

It was tough for me to move from Waco, where my best friends live, my sports teams play, and I know all the quickest ways to get from any A to any B. Actually, I'm a little shocked how comfortable I had grown with my life of mediocrity in Waco. Nothing bad about my time there. Waco is a fantastic place to live for 4-6 years. But lets be honest, in the 80 yard drive that is life, Waco is ten-yards between your own 40 and the 50. At the end of it, you're out of your own territory, but you still have half a field to go. Y'know? I think my little scamper was pretty good, I broke some tackles, but I'm nowhere near getting the 6 points I have coming to me.

In comes Todd, Colin, David, Shelle, Robert, James and Belinda. The people who sold A&M to me. They got me here on this island city. I moved myself here with the help of my friends the missed company of whom, ironically, was keeping me in Waco. After the pathetic 15 minutes it took to move my material world into my new apartment, we went to dinner. We got lost a couple of times on the way, but we got there.

Dinner at a seafood restaurant (when in Rome...) during which, I managed to simultaneously talk said friends into leaving town that very night, and work up the beginnings of a nervous break-down (caused from pre-emptive homesickness). I began praying under my breath... well it was sort of swearing where I mentioned God, Jesus, and St. Jude. Providence in the form of my ex-girlfriend Rhonda (yeah, we used to make-out on a fairly regular basis ;-) ) presents itself in a whiney "lets go by the beeeeeeeeach [snorts]!!" And so we did.

As we were walking across the Seawall towards the 7+ mile beach at 11 at night, I had my head down, staring at my feet, muttering in my head and calculating certain illnesses I could get that would leave me simultaneously feared and respected but relieving me from all responsibility of any kind- and forcing me to go back to my "dark place" where everying thing is safe. And then something Rhonda says to me about how big a jerk Eric is or something makes me look up. Apparently, I had walked 40 yards on a rock pier into the bay of black waves with white baby-hair curls on their heads sliding in roughly the same direction all around me. I looked up and out and saw an ocean full of my musical new friends, all heading in towards me. I saw the reflection of a big moon in the lumpy water.

Each one of these waves had a story, starting tens of thousands of miles away as a butterfly flapping its wings in Buenos Aires or some jackass throwing a bottle off a fishing boat (seriously dude, give a hoot). But more importantly they have all been marching towards their end. Their special job. Add a little sand. Attack the edge of a rock. Get dirty fish-water on some ex-girlfriend sitting too close to the edge of a rock pier. They do their little job and they're done. And like the universe's biggest dominoe run, they set off another wave on a slightly tangential direction to do a slightly different job.

All of a sudden moving 4 hours away from Waco wasn't that big a deal. Gas is expensive. But Texas roads are good. In the meantime I've got and incredibly important job to do with awesome people who want to help me do it.

Once again, God is more faithful than I deserve.

And talking through waves and a little girl with a big mouth? Apparently, the Big Fella still likes his cliche's.

Kisses,
Neil