in which, life limps along at subsonic speeds.

I have been driving every day to the other high school across town to drop my sister off for summer school. it's about ten minutes away and it's really not a bad trip. city block, city block, city block, sketchy street corner; crumbling bridge, car lots, gas stations, shitty park; right turn, speed bumps, dangerous parking lot. stop the car & wave goodbye.

I took driver's ed at the other high school, something like six years ago. oh my god, when I said that to myself the first time I almost lost it. six years ago? really? I sat in the middle of the class next to autumn and doodled the whole time. made fun of the box in the road video. didn't listen. the roads around the other high school are where I learned to drive, little winding backstreets and sleepy neighborhood lanes. the twisting road into the town, following the river. past the police station, the park, the daily grind. a thousand things I used to look at almost every day.

it was raining this morning when I got in the car. I like to drive in the rain; I like finding the right mood music, watching the wipers scrambling across the windshield like little arms. and the way rain smells, the way that smell soaks into everything in the car. I had my coffee in one hand, the steering wheel in the other hand. sometimes when I had to execute a difficult turn, I'd clamp the coffee tight between my thighs and put both hands on the wheel. when I was ready to pick my coffee up again, my legs were weird and warm.

I turned down the twisting road to town. the sky was dark in front of me, gray on gray clouds swelling on the horizon. they were caught between the trees, like cotton swabs on spiny fingers. and there's the little waterfall on my right, where I used to go wading summer weekends. where I saw that crane in that weirdly poetic moment. I remember so much about this town it's ridiculous.

I hate Indiana. I hate this town with a passion. I can't stand living here. I love my house; it's like this little Indiana oasis. but every time I step out my door--I smell that weird Indiana smell. unwashed houses, processed corn, car exhaust. everything is gray & nothing matters. so it amazes me I can have so much attachment to a place I hate so much. I don't even really understand it. but there's this weird nostolgia every time I look at a shitty crumbling building, or watch the ugly brown water surge down the river. I know it's a nostolgia for something simpler, but it still weirds me out.


post-college, I still haven't found a job. I have gotten used to my cat, whose name is capone. he's got a gravally voice, growls like a dog, & miows like a raptor: mrrrrrrreeeooouw. but he loves to lay next to you on the couch & purr like crazy. & I have started writing again, which is good, I guess.