It's weird right now being me. I'm sitting in a hotel watching the Dodgers game with my unsweetened Iced Tea and you'd believe I'm still in Orlando right now. Nope, I'm in L.A. in-between houses, waiting to move into our new place.
I've moved out of Inglewood and heading with Moms to a beautiful house a few minutes south in Torrance. After 14 years its time for a change and I couldnt be happier, especially since I know that I hope to be living on my own this year. So while they sort out that paperwork, I'll be getting used to another hotel room.
I almost feel like a stranger in my backyard. Life continues to go on but it feels like I'm kinda stuck in neutral - going through the motions until I finally get back on the right road. You know that feeling you get when you move somewhere new and it doesnt feel like home? That's how I feel to another degree.
But life is still good - I'm bummed I won't be going to Rock The Bells this year, especially after finally hearing back from RTB's people on my credential. Now I'm getting interview requests, the set times, and having to tell friends I can't go. I had looked forward to seeing Slaughterhouse and Ice Cube among the others.
However, I'm supporting my pastor's 10th anniversary. I've been torn on both events since the dates were announced and I have no problem supporting a man who feels more like an adult I've grown up than a pastor on high. He was there for me when my uncle passed and I had no one to talk to in person. So yeah I'm sad about missing Rock the Bells but supporting him and my church fam is something I'm looking forward to 100%.
Other than that, I'm starting my High School football practice tour to get ready for another season of coverage. Prep sports is my bread and butter and I'm hungry. California has a great senior class of Division I kids and I'm fortunate to get the chance to get to know them and their coaches and families before they go pro.
It's gonna be cool - even though right now I feel like on the run like Paul McCartney used to do back in the day.
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