Ramblin'

I have realized that the idea of "going all Jack Kerouac" is much better than actually going all Jack Kerouac. At first, like most things, it was so exhilarating, I couldn't believe I actually had the nerve to pack a bag and head out on the open road. It was exciting and fresh, the music was good and my spirits were high, but that only lasted for about an hour and half. My enthusiasm began to wane, as my neck and back tightened, and the Cd's ran dry. Then a halfway decent song would come on, and my vigor would return in bursts, but by the 3 hour mark, I was so bored, and becoming more and more road-weary. Then at hour 4, I seriously entertained the idea, "I can kind of see why people pick up hitchhikers...Is that a prison sign?" Loneliness definitely set in, as the hour grew later and later. Driving alone at 2:30 in the morning is no easy task, even with the greatest passion at the outset. Driving became my only focus, just trying to stay between the lines, and avoiding random debris in the road. It began to feel surreal, like I wasn't really there, like it was all in my head, a strange daydream. Not too mention, I was malnourished, only having a yogurt and a chai tea the entire day. I think that is the closest I will ever come to experiencing the sensation of smoking peyote in the desert (and yes, there was subsequent discussion about spirit animals. We decided that mine would obviously be a giraffe, until I pointed out that I think the animal had to be native to North America, but nothing else really fit.)

Even though my thoughts tend to wander and race on a regular basis, nothing quite lets your mind meander and run like driving along the highway. My thoughts definitely headed towards some weird places. I don't know if I gained any clarity or not. That is a lie, I did gain clarity, but I just don't know if I can accept it right now. I think perhaps if the route was more scenic, it would have been more enjoyable, and less of a chore, I-75 isn't exactly the Pacific Coast Highway. At hour 5 1/2 I had to stop and gas up, I tried to make it all the way back without stopping, I ran the gas tank down to the lowest I think it has ever been, (in that car anyway,) it almost became a weird test of will, to see how far I would actually go without stopping. I started to feel the engine strain and sputter, so I decided to pull off, but I made it pretty far. Odd sidenote: while pumping gas, something I haven't done in years, no joke, I was the absolute coldest I think I have ever been. The wind cut right through me with absolutely no regard, I was wearing a dress and sandals, but even so, it was colder than it had been all winter, or any winter for that matter. I just kept shaking uncontrollably, I couldn't even fill the tank, I had to run in the car. But even more curious was, the second I got in the car, I just wasn't cold anymore, it didn't linger, like it should have. Very strange.

I don't think I have gotten the wanderlust out of my system quite yet, I am already thinking about where to go next. But honestly, if someone wanted to go along with me and this craziness, I would literally go in a heartbeat. I don't even care who the tag-along would be, at this point I would go with practically anyone. For God's sakes, I was contemplating picking up a hitchhiker, even someone I just know peripherally would be better than that. I feel like they would have a website called hitchhiker.com, that matches up people road-tripping across the country. If they don't have that, they totally should. Now that would be adventurous. I totally blew off a job interview to partake in this madness, and it actually feels pretty good. I haven't had any real obligations to blow off in a long time. It is very liberating, I guess I kind of attached to my bum lifestyle, like el duderino. "The dude abides, man, the dude abides." (Yeah, I know that is a lame, cop-out way to end this essay, but I am working on like 3 hours sleep after driving 6, so cut me some f-ing slack, punks.)