It’s probably not a good idea to start drinking at 11 on a Sunday night when you have to work the next day but I have never been one to let convention or good ideas dictate how I live.
Doesn’t mean I am the biggest rebel or that my inclination to go left when everyone goes right wins the battle for choices in my mind or that it loses.
When they asked if I consider myself an outlaw I shook my head, walked away and forced myself not to engage further.
Been one of those moments where the minutes last days and days a week and I haven’t figured it all out.
Some of it makes sense to me, but not all and that irks me a bit. Not as much as some pictures or the silence that comes from elsewhere but enough.
Got a call from that 17 year-old girl to let me know they made it to the hotel and will be back in town tomorrow and smiled broadly.
She made a comment about my not understanding how tired of sitting in the car she is and I let it sit.
I have done that drive multiple times and always did it alone, several times without satellite radio.
Drove to and from places with more angst and grief than anyone knew. Don’t remember ever discussing it because there wasn’t anything to be gained from it.
Wasn’t going to change anything but I’ll say it was painful and that I dove into the fire with the hope it was the correct choice each time.
I lean towards saying that it was because that’s what you do when you can’t go backwards but there are nights I have walked through fields and let the ghosts confront me.
Nights where I wandered with nothing but whatever light came from the sky above and the understanding that decisions had been made.
Sometimes I consider opening the vault and displaying what lies behind and calling that writing the write way.
Seventeen years of blogging says those posts could be among the biggest I have ever written. People like when you lift the veil and get deep.
They like when you ignore boundaries and speak freely in a way they fear to.
If I wrote like that, if I really let go it wouldn’t be because I wanted to have posts go viral but because I had to let the whisper roar.
Unlikely to see that here, just hints of the ghost of Tom Joad.
Heard from an old friend today that the house he grew up in has been put on the market.
Wasn’t a big surprise but still surreal because that house occupies a big part of a large section of life.
From the time we got back from our high school Israel trip through college and the occasional moments of adult life it has been a part of collective experience.
Been trying to remember the last time I was there and can’t figure out if it was more than 15 years but figure it is at least 10.
So much has happened since then it is harder to recall, some things blur together.
In about two weeks it will be five years since I had double hernia surgery and flew to Dallas to find an apartment.
Figure about three weeks before I mark the five year anniversary of driving from LA back to Texas to start a new life.
Still hear the echoes of so many different things and still get the occasional questions from people about what happened and why.
Kind of funny to hear some of it, there were lots of rumors for a while and who knows, maybe there still are.
I never paid much attention but if people asked I always had answers and not always ones they appreciated.