First day on the road: a long one. Sleepy as hell
in my motel room (which, of course, is not
mine at all.)
This is the uncomfortable part of traveling.
Sleeping somewhere so cold and impersonal; I
can’t call it unfamiliar, only generic. At
least it is fairly clean), I recall the drive up to
Redding (where we are staying the night)
as nothing but dry grass and a few cows scattered
here and there. Well, more than a few.
Cramped together. Uniform. Beings, entities;
living, breathing capital.
A young man on the radio explains his habit
of recording everything. He isn’t alive when he
isn’t recording. Of course, he’s missed out on a lot
of his life. I find it a sad story, though he is, he
says, learning to cherish his unrecorded moments.
It is good to be away. I can breathe again.
Sometimes my house constricts and chokes me.
I become rather blue. Crave adventure.
Here it is, apparently.