As of mid-2006

So, today (actual date not important for posterity's sake) I spent a fair amount of time (I lost track of actual hours, seconds, minutes) looking for a lost leather-bound, quad ruled notebook given to me by my illustrious friend, Lisa J W, who, I think still considers us friends even though she never returns my calls or reciprocates on emails or postcards. The reason I think she still considers me her friend is because she warned me that this would happen but begged me to continue sending things anyway.

So the book is a document of sorts detailing my trip across the country after I left my lover of seven years herein referred to as the mistress on what we would amicably agree were bad terms.

Upon opening this book a few things hit me.

One.

After living in Lawrence for, what, 5 years. There were only seven people whose names and addresses I copied down on a page entitled: People I Used to Know. Seven people. I was befriending something like 1 and 1/4 people a year. That is bad. Five of them were coworkers. I would like to blame this on the mistress but this seems unfair. Nick E and Nina I are not listed, neither is the mistress or her family.

Two.

There is an urgent list of songs to download scribbled across the front page in very definitive I-am-driving-and-can't-look-at-the-pen scrawl. It says: Lola-Kinks, Break Down, Go Ahead and Give It To Me, American ?? Volume II.

Three. (a.k.a. Cee)

There is a mysterious blank business card in here on which I have written "Lego Genius" in one corner by hand. I don't know what I was thinking at the time, but this strikes me as absolutely marvelous now and I am thinking of using this as my actual business card.

Four.

A series of lines, which I, of course, immediately recognize as a map, but other folks might mistake for a drawing of the underside of a lactating cow with the various udders labeled things like: Tulsa (ODP Tourney), Little Rock, Memphis (Sleep, Beale, Trolley, Katrina Refugee), Nashville (Wow, Hatch, Arnold's 3 and 1), Smokies, Asheville (420 Kids, Rosetta’s, Early Girls). And can I say Early Girls was f-ing fantabuloso. I had a fried green tomato eggs benedict thing. It was heavenly.

Five.

Asheville has it's own page in the book. It begins with eatery recommendations from the mysterious Courtney C: Asheville Pizza and Brewing Co., Rosetta’s Kitchen, Early Girl, Ultimate Ice Cream. Then there is a section labeled "Cute Asheville Girls" which is basically a list of lesbian hangouts: Smokey Tavern, Gypsy Moon, and some other places I am having trouble reading due to the fact it was raining when I was standing outside of this restaurant taking notes on where to cruise chicks (by cruise I mean wish I had the courage to talk to) while sharing names with some local kids who I ended up spending the rest of the night with.

Luckily I wrote down one of their phone numbers, Miss Mandy G. She was adamant that I should stay in Asheville and attend Thanksgiving with her family who believe it or not are all 420 friendly and vegetarian. Apparently there is such a thing as turkey-shaped tofurkey. I watched these kids (all of whom were over 21) smoke a seriously prodigious amount of weed. I am not into weed. I am scared it would make me dumber than I already am. So, I drank a warm peach Lambic (yummy, lambic, too expensive for me right now).

Mandy G. told an amazing story. Apparently she and her mother have a sort of cross-generational competition going on to see which one of them will get the most marriage proposals. Mandy G.'s mom had something like 13 men propose to her. If I remember correctly Mandy G. will get a car if she gets more than 13 by a certain age.

I realized today, which by the way is not the day I wrote the rest of this, that I will probably never get married. I went to a friends wedding yesterday. It was very nice, the people were nice, the bride and groom are wonderful and great, but it just isn't for me. I have never had a marriage fantasy except once as a small child, maybe in second grade, we were asked to draw a picture of ourselves receiving the seven sacraments. Marriage is a sacrament and I drew the bride and groom from behind. The teacher commended me on how realistic the drawing was and how it was interesting that I had drawn it from the POV of the pews in the church. But really I drew it that way because I was having trouble picturing myself married until it dawned on me that I could be the groom. Well of course, I couldn't let the teacher know I was fantasizing being a groom and having a lovely bride, and more importantly a lovely suit, so I drew it from behind and everyone assumed I was the bride when really I was the groom. I sent it to my dad. Not really sure why. Maybe I was hoping he would understand.

One more thing about Asheville: Everyone I met was very outdoorsy and even the heavy people owned a kayak. I like this town.

Six.

While eating dinner in Asheville I started writing an excruciatingly detailed account of my life. I started with and didn't make it past describing the apartment on 522 Chenango Street.

Seven.

Some lines from other bits of journal-esque scribbles have attracted my attention: "There were Indians there originally, of course." 'If you pluck a rubber grape and deflate it slightly you can make it stick to the end of your tongue." "She had a bowl of macoon apples cut up for me and I also ate some garbanzo beans." "I never want to be fat again." "I think Julie and I are more alike than we know."

Eight.

Detailed drawings of an architectural feature I built for a friend.

Nine.

Ah, finally, the poem. The reason I went searching for this darn book that ended up being in my mom's garage in a box with a bunch of chai tea, a Ted Kooser book and some white canvas sneakers.

People always talk about how great and meaningful road trips are. And they are great, but mostly when you are on them. Most of my road trips have been alone and I don't ever really feel the need to talk about them, like the way i don't feel the need to talk about the sunset or my last bath.

I think the reasons people like to go on about road trips are two fold: first, they are usually taken with a great friend or a perfect stranger and so there is a natural deepening of a realtionship that occurs. Second, they take people through places they wouldn't have otherwised visited (say if they had gone by plane or train). So there is also some inherent deepening of understanding of place. And, most folks know that most people they run into are unlikely to ever go to that same small town or rest stop or even national park. So, these stories are valuable.

On my solo road trips, however, I became acutely aware of my self, my own thoughts, fears, and ambitions. I didn't have to laugh off any urge I had to go somewhere or do something or sit and do nothing, to do it naked, to smoke and do it, to drink in the morning. You get the idea. I didn't have to compromise, for the most part. And I think I was truly aware of how I fit into everyplace that I went dually as a traveller and as an individual. But, did anything of great significance happen on this particular trip? No. I ended in a different place from where it started.

I can say this though, the last time I felt that anything truly meaningful in my life happened was when I touched a 3,300 year-old tree (which was on a more recent road trip), and before that was when Amie B was playing with my hair while I typed on the computer and my dog started sleeping on the bed next to me. Before that, about 8 months ago my sister and I ate dinner together in SoHo and laughed until we cried (for the first time in almost a decade) on the subway. Before that little 11-year-old Hannah R. told me I was her best friend. And that accounts for one year of meaning.

So, what did I learn from my trip to NY from Kansas. Hmm. I am a loser. I am dying to be hip, but I always get distracted by practical concerns and never follow through on anything that is great and my own. I always go the extra mile at work and it never enriches my life. I like driving. I am good at meeting new people. I just rarely meet people I want to hang on to for long. As in hardly ever, as in once a year. I need to let go of the things that are weighing me down. And I think I have started, but there is a paradigm shift that needs to occur so that I can be the happy-as-pie, never-do-well I envision myself being at 25, oh shit I am already 27. Fuck. I have two and 1/2 years to be a fucking 20-something. I am not going to spend another day worrying about soccer or what my mom thinks of me or MONEY. I am going to eat dirt and air and laugh and drink moonshine and two buck chuck and enjoy random hook-ups and get in fist fights and pick pockets and meet fast women and COWBOYS COWBOIS COWGIRLS and loose that last 30 lbs and get a freakin tattoo of something completely meaningless while wearing more hats, boots and less clothing. Because there is a decent chance I may not make it to 30.