It's good to be home.
But after going through an interesting six years full of good memories (some involving things as simple as a sock) since I graduated from the hallowed halls of NACI, I can't help but sit here and wonder, "How in the hell did I end up back in my parents' basement".
Although it's a temporary fix (isn't that what they all say) the friendly and all-too-familiar confines of the Critchlow residence's basement suite are once again my humble abode.
And, as I write this editorial in my boxers with a Mike's Hard to my left, chili-flavored italian potato chips to my right, the big-screen TV in my peripherals and the dog at my feet, I don't know how it led to this.
After graduating NACI in 2006 I tried my luck at the big-city life, heading out to Edmonton for the University of Alberta's business program.
A failed attempt at trying out for the U of A soccer squad (how was I supposed to know you had to be in shape for something like that) and a year which saw me become slightly distracted living out of a sorority house (yes, that's the all-women one), joining a fraternity (the one with dudes only) and earning my one and only 'F' in a class ever (try passing Calculus without attending class), I packed up and headed back home.
I moved in on the parents (I did say my current situation is a familiar one, right) and tried my luck on the cut floor at Springhill Farms (I had to live up to my Grade 3 nickname 'Bacon' somehow) for the next eight months, leaving just as the new ownership was preparing to move in.
The experience gave me a new respect for the work the fine gents and gals at the processing plant complete on a daily basis but, while I sincerely enjoyed my time there, I realized the occupation wasn't for me and became motivated to head back to the college ranks.
But before getting too committed, I decided to make use of my impeccable map-following skills (see, all that effort wasn't for not Ms. Gamey) and headed for a little overseas backpacking tour of Europe, making stops in England (expensive), Greece (insert '300' Spartan reference), Italy (forgot to tell Venice about automobiles) and Spain (home of F.C. Barcelona).
I then returned back to the basement suite (notice the pattern) before heading off to Providence 'University College' (apparently it can't make up its mind which type of school it wanted to be) in Otterburne, Man. where I spent three seasons on its soccer team before graduating in December of last year with a major in Media & Communications and double minor in Business Administration and Theological Studies.
After graduating (top of my class; take that Calculus), I managed to only spend a couple weeks in the basement suite before heading out to the home of the Millionaires (try Youtube'ing 'Melville Millionaire Coach' for a chuckle) in Melville, Sask. for a reporters' position at an award-winning weekly newspaper.
A year, phone call and letter of resignation later, I was able to earn this very reporting position back in hometown Neepawa with my orientation starting last Tuesday.
But, history lesson aside, I'm still sitting here dumbfounded (and in my boxers) at how all of these experiences could have possibly led me right back to the Critchlow household basement suite.
While I try to figure it out, I will point out I'm excited to be getting on board here at The Neepawa Press, and, if your still reading at this point (which logic would point out you must be) I'm happy to say I was also able to trick at least one person into reading my intro.
That's all for now so, until my next editorial (at which point I'll hopefully write a worthwhile read with a bit of meat to it), I'm going to turn on some Tina Turner (hopefully one reader catches the 'Back Where You Started' reference), flip the channel and (okay, I'll do it already) throw on some pants.