"We were just eating raw bacon in the lighthouse!"

So last week I sat down to watch a fresh episode of Saturday Night Live. And afterwards, I was restless. I couldn't sleep. My chest felt itchy from the inside. I was pacing my bedroom and laughing to myself.

I'm starting to realize that I've had this feeling fairly consistently for the last five years. I get sort of antsy and excited whenever I watch a good, satisfyingly funny episode of SNL. And sometimes even after watching the not-so-funny ones.

But I don't think it's an allergic reaction to too much television or just some celebrity/pseudo-celebrity obsession. I get a similar feeling when I find a new magazine I like, or when I read David Sedaris, or when Catherine sends me an article from the Onion and I have to stifle my laughter in the teachers' lounge.

I got this feeling when I compulsively rented Arrested Development DVDs last April. And when I compulsively watched Stella Comedy Shorts instead of studying for finals sophomore year.

I get this feeling when I see a t-shirt with Steve Buschemi on it. When I have conversations with my friends. When I go to HyVee with Keith.














I get this feeling when Kyle Korver comes up in conversation. When my brother grows a mustache. When the Bruggemans come over.

Ultimately, creating cool things makes me really happy. Laughing makes me really happy.

And, I'm not certain, but what I think it comes down to is a mix between super fan-dom - an appreciation for things that are funny, cool, engaging, intelligent, creative - and the realization of "I want to do that. Hey. I could do that."

I just don't know where the line of distinction is.

The thing is, the aspiration to write (comedically?) is always there. It excites me and also scares the shit out of me. I just wonder how much longer I can avoid it.

I fear that the longer I wait to pursue it in some form, the more I dabble around in other things that I'm less passionate about, the further away the dream gets until my life starts to fizzle and settle into something doughy and mediocre and half-satisfying. And that is my biggest fear.

In the words of Rob Gordon, WHEN IS THIS GONNA STOP?!

I don't doubt that Portland is going to be amazing. Another year of living the life of a volunteer will totally change me - in a good way. I'm really looking forward to a new environment. I'm looking forward to sharing myself (and my toilet paper) with 7 new people. I'm looking forward to working in a new, engaging job with women and children with a lot of different needs (I accepted the Rose Haven job by the way!) I'm looking forward to the diversity and the stimuli that come with such an amazing city.

It's just that if I fall in love with Portland in the duration of an amazing year, Chicago, or what I eventually want to take place in Chicago, is that much further away. Literally and figuratively. So that's a little scary to me.

And it's not just Chicago. It could be Madison. It could be San Francisco. It could be New York. It could be Sioux Falls! (But probably not Sioux Falls...) It could be a million places. I just know for sure that I could sink my inexperienced little teeth into something in Chicago. And you have to start somewhere.

But maybe my somewhere is somewhere else. Maybe opportunities will present themselves in Portland. Or Lincoln. Or Katmandu.

Jesus.

If there is one thing I've learned about myself this year, it's that I am extremely indecisive. Thank God I'm not a transsexual.

But I am thoroughly excited for whatever happens. And a little less restless than I was last week. Wherever I go, whatever I do, I know I'll find something that makes me happy. I just have to be open to it. But God. I'm ready for good things...