This is not an exit

I get some news and it's a flashback and a moment in time that takes me back to what I know.
I need to leave this place.
I get distracted.
I meet an amazing girl.
Work gives me, no, I deserve new responsibilities and the accolades pour in and it's another job well done......

I get distracted and I forget....fuck this place.
It's like ash in my mouth and it's time to leave.
I have some ***** matters to resolve but I am leaving. I see that clearly and painfully austerely for the first time in a long time.
Time away from the idea somehow makes it all the more razor clear when it comes barreling into my consciousness again after some time completely forgotten by your humble narrator. I've had 4-5 beers this afternoon but it's one of those days where I know there isn't enough alcohol or weed or anything in the world to obtain relief.
And that is the difference nowadays: I don't use to obtain relief.
I know this is no escape.
I used to dream of leaving because I thought it meant relief.
I found relief. I changed my paradigm.
I changed myself.
I took out the trash.
I cleaned out my closet.
I got divorced.
I dealt with ongoing issues at work.
I learned to have a good time and meet women sober.

And yet, having removed all the clutter and the trash and the baggage.
I see now, naked and glaring, the truth: it is time to leave...not now, but coming soon. Coming very soon.
This place is dying and will soon be entirely dead to me.