That Toddlin' Town

I've often thought that if something is good enough for Frank Sinatra, it's good enough for me. This time, that something is the toddlin' town of Chicago.

I want to move to Chicago. I have never been to Chicago, but I want to move to Chicago. My parents have tried to subtly suggest that perhaps I should reconsider. My mother doesn't think I would like Chicago (direct quote: "I don't think you would like Chicago.") My dad wants to know if I'm planning on visiting before I move, to which I respond that I didn't visit Melbourne before I moved there, and that was the greatest year of my life. (I have no qualms about broadcasting this on my blog because I happen to know for a fact that my parents won't read this until I'm dead.)

I love me a good coastal metropolis. That alone is a reason to move, but I've got more. Everything wonderful in this world is in Chicago: Ira Glass; Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me!; an elevated train (which, in my opinion, is the most astonishing advancement in public transit ever); the tallest building in the western hemisphere. Oh, and a giant reflective bean in the middle of the city. It's like Chicago was built to my exact specifications.

I have spent the past month or so absorbed in daydreams of what my life would be like if I were to pack up and move across the country. I would go running in each of the city's 552 parks. I would attend at least one live taping of Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me! every month. I would ride the El every chance I got. I would retrace the steps taken by Sandra Bullock and Bill Pullman in the romantic comedy While You Were Sleeping (which I may or may not have watched three times last week). Also, I would take up yoga. 

I went to the library the other day and checked out a guidebook to Chicago. I read it front to back. Twice. And then I checked out two more. I've researched jobs and apartments on the Chicago Craigslist. I even--and I consider this the most blatant pro-move indication--knew the answer to the Thursday crossword's clue: "The heart of Chicago, with 'the'."

Nevermind that I don't have a job. Nevermind that my life has collapsed into a by-the-minute routine in which I make sure to finish my breakfast before 8:00 on the dot and then sit down to read for an hour so I can be fully digested in time for my run, which lasts from exactly 9:10 to 9:40, unless of course I have chosen my short run that lasts until 9:25, or my medium short run that lasts until 9:31 and 30 seconds, or my short long run that lasts until 9:34. Nevermind that you couldn't even use binoculars to see the time in my life when I might potentially be in a position to move. 

I am going to move. 

I am going to move.

I am going to move.