Sunday, August 14, 2016

3/4 gravel vs. a past labatt.

Fuckin 3/4" gravel my heart is filled with, and I'm slinging it by the handful, and I'm building a mountain with it and a moat. Tight and dusty. I am thankful and begging for anything I recognize. I am wound tight as a spring.

Grass covered hills were enough to bring my eyelids to 3/4 mast, and I still drove my train car straight home. I have ten homes, going on thirty. Sleep is fitful and useless.

Once a time ago, I was in Brattleboro, VT.

- Jerk seasoning in free stew
- $2.00 balaclava
- $1.89 40oz LaBatt Blue from a roof carrier

It's five hours away.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

So what are you saying you're going back up to Vermont to do a bicycle tour?

Chris Harne said...

Bicycle touring is definitely on my mind. It's also less hot up in Brattleboro - it might be a good place to hide when southeastern PA has a daily heat index over 100. (It's not exactly a "dry heat.") A van-cation would seem to make sense.

I remember when I was small. I spent all possible time outdoors. I recall thinking to myself how much I loved the extreme humidity. Loved it. I'm not sure what happened, but I do not feel the same way now. The wussification of another American, perhaps. I believe cabin fever might be even worse for me, but the effects are slow and insidious.

Further, I've noticed that I'm never quite happy wherever I am. When I'm most happy, I have some sort of plan cooked up to be somewhere else. I'm positive there's room for improvement in this respect - but before working on mindfulness, my instinct is to find a new place to live - where I might be happy. Hm.

In the meantime, I was checking all categories on Craiglist to take the pulse of Brattleboro today. It was a good place then. Seems like a good place now.