driving

I’ve been feeling bored and restless of late, but unprepared to take on any real responsibilities.  These are my last few days to spend hours on end contemplating at the keyboard, and while I mourn the impending transformation if not loss of this outlet, I find I have nothing to say.

You wouldn’t know it by reading this blog, but my thinking has been especially productive the last few days.  The relevant insights are being gleaned in subjects on which I am unable to write about here, mostly for modesty’s sake.  I went and gave this url to people I know and adore irl, so that makes the stakes higher.

Our many facets shine best in different light, every stranger’s glow illuminates us anew.  I relocate geographically at an impressive rate, something like ten towns in six states in ten years, the last time I checked, so I fancy that I become new to myself with somewhat more precision than most people.  I don’t know that I want to introduce everyone who reads this to all the people I have been.  Every slight disapproval reminds me of my propensity to fail those who might otherwise love me.  I am pulling back a bit.

Tonight all I can think about is running away.  I want to come back to myself, to start clean.  I remember driving north from Philly in the sweltering heat to search for a girl I would die for any day.   She was having legal troubles and had disappeared.  I was coming to get her on an instinct.  The storm broke while I sat in North Jersey gridlock; by the time I got to Barrington it was coming down in sheets.  I looked up all of our mutual friends, searched high and low for her, to no avail.  Even in July, a New England thunderstorm is cold at midnight, especially when you’ve been out in it for six hours.  I must have been shivering when I showed up at his house, crying and worried, fearing the worst for her.

That's where I become disappointing again, and I won’t follow the memory any more.  He was ashamed.  I have a gift for inspiring regret sprinkled lightly with disgust.

Before that, though, there was the muggy highway, the purple sky on the verge of losing it’s fight to hold everything in, and me, noticing the ribbons of sweat forging down my arms as an outside observer might; they seemed not a part of me.  It all happened at once; the clouds opened up violently, water came fast on my windshield, and traffic began to move again.  I did not close my windows. 

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