And… she’s off
I feel like I’m suffocating right now.
This town, despite it’s open fields and cow manure smell, is strangling me; so I’m taking a road trip. I’m leaving sometime today and going to Pittsburgh, Cleveland, and ending in Chicago. I need my friends.
I have blankets, my two hiking packs, hiking boots, a synced iPod with great music, a broken heart, warm clothing, cluttered mind, food, a little — very little money, sleeping bags, a cell phone, a credit card, and my dog. I need to do something for me. I’ve spent so much time doing for him that I can’t take it anymore. I have to breathe.
I have a habit of running from things. I know this, if you know me you know this, but I don’t see why not. I don’t have a family. My friends are all over the place so, when I need to, I run to them. Other people run or call home to receive soothing words and calming advice. I don’t have that.
So, I’m taking this trip for me. I don’t want to celebrate Christmas (the Jehovah’s Witnesses’ got something right) I just want to celebrate life. There should be a word between depressed and suicide. Because I was there. That happy little nook where you feel like your life is over, you know you have something to live for but you’re not quite sure what, and feel like tomorrow will never come and the tears will never dry. I’ve been there. I was looking at properties so I could buy a lot and stay awhile. But, I didn’t. I called friends, reached out and people reached back. I thank God for that.
My lack of familial ties can be depressing at times. When I sit and think about how if I died tomorrow my family wouldn’t find out until it was in the papers and in most cases not even then; I get a little sad. As a result, I have really high expectations for people I let into my life. That can be a bit much for them, and I’m sorry about that. But thanks for sticking around anyway.
So, here I go. I’m driving hundreds of miles in a car whose radiator flipped shit and left me on the side of the road 7 days ago and whose check engine light was just turned off by a mechanic yesterday. It’s a dangerous (and probably stupid) trip but I don’t care. I’m ready for the adventure. I’m ready for the journey and, if something really bad happens and I die, I’m ready for that too.
I’ll be back though. Something tells me I’m going to experience something wonderful and warm and it will send me back to this little corn-filled town with too few people.