Run Poop Threw the lens of my blurry eyes, I push aside the stubborn bangs that stick to my forehead and try to concentrate on the road. The road. The journey. The physiological and emotional brick path set inevitably before me begging to be trod. As much as I love to fake the satisfaction of dancing anywhere around, underneath, next to, or traveling away from such direction, I know I need to get going. Right now the road is bright and burning, covered in coastal fog making it a painful white that bounces off the backs of my corneas and makes me wince. I can see trashy crab shops and thrift stores only Seaside can proudly claim through the fog, and entranced by the thrill of ocean endeavors, pull over into a small parking lot littered with remains of what once were full Big Gulps. I do this a lot. Stop. Pause. Take in the view. My camera flicks a few times, mostly pictures of Gus, but my internal visual memory card flashes back to any memory made at any location remotely like our current one. This automatic recall of similar events, this unconscious replay of all past moments, both kills and thrills. It makes some places unbearable, and others euphoric. That dichotomy, the balance between those flickering emotions brought on by the mere presence of water, thrusts me back onto the road. I stay for no more than five minutes and opt to take the closest highway back into my boring safe haven of hiding. But I count the days. Each "funemployment" hour brings so much freedom and the impending ticking time bomb that will explode in t-minus 10 days. The joy, the release, the final and ulimate agreement that I am worth too much to continue to elect pain; the understanding that risk means gain and I will risk it all. I will risk feeling stupid and alone just to see where this damn road takes me to so I can stop circling this one brick. Here, one square block has been circled over so many times, paced over like a religious ritual with such diligence, that no piece of wisdom remains here to be discovered. Every inch has been picked, every theory rehearsed, and all the devotion in the world spent. Done. And although I would do it again, I have a feeling the world has other plans for me, or at least I have other plans for it.

So I am going to keep driving. Next week to other friends, places I will miss and towards feelings I want to feel before moving to Jumangi where I will be swimming in a pool of unknowns searching to grasp something familiar. I know the ocean makes me feel safe so I will go there. I know friends make me feel propelled, so I will see them. And i know driving alone forces me to think about everything I like toignore. Here's to that open road.  ¶ 12:24 AM