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On
the way to work, I was filled with nervous energy, thinking about the
road trip to Columbus. The drive in was good, and I finally got that poem-I-want-to-write
feeling once more. I was going to be driving into the night, heading across
three states, had a pint of whiskey in the trunk, would be staying with
the coolest girl, and was going to see a bunch of writers that I respected,
admired, and had the good fortune to call friends.
That
morning, driving up the Kennedy, I felt whole and right and full. I had
a lot to be thankful for, and I knew it. Deep down, I felt a large pang
- at best I can describe it is a sense of unfocused love. As I was driving
and the coffee and sunlight were beginning to effect me... I felt an enormous
capacity to love someone, anyone, who could return my love back
to me. At
that time, I felt a great desire, an urge to find someone who could possibly
accept all the devotion and loyalty and passion that made me feel like
my chest was going to blow apart all over the dash.
As
silly as it sounds, I felt giddy, powerful, almost invincible with the
sensation (or measurement) of how much I was capable of loving another
human being. It was a fantastic feeling - to have the sense that, if someone
let me, I could love them with the full capacity of my self, unabashedly
and truly.
This
is what the mornings do to me, sometimes. This is why I wade through traffic
and drive to work.
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On
Thursday, I purchased a
new CD player for my car. My friend and coworker Josh agreed to help
me install the thing today, and I sat in the back feeling generally useless
and snapped a few photos:
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I
leave work around 3 PM. I'm out in the suburbs, so it takes me almost
2 and 1/2 hours to get past the city, anywhere near I-65 South to Indianapolis.
For some reason, every time I pass this particular overpass... I think
of brontosaurs. Not sure why, but I do:
Once
you actually enter Indiana, the ride down into the center of the state
is flat and monotonous. I tried taking a picture to capture how plain
and flat the landscape was - this image does nothing to represent the
landscape.
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I
know, deep down, that Chicken McNuggets are made out of rat tails and
rooster anuses. But I can't help it - I like them. Particularly for road
trips. If I'm driving a long enough distance to necessitate food, I will
often stop at McDonald's and get the biggest order (20 pieces). I've found
them to be by far the easiest food to eat while driving, requiring only
one hand.
So
now you know my guilty secret. On top of the whole McNugget thing, I also
enjoy listening to NPR while I'm eating... or any other narrative/speaking
voice. For this particular road trip, I brought an audio version of Hunter
S. Thompson's "Fear
and Loathing in Las Vegas."
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Around
here (on the outskirts of Indiana), the sun broke open and lit up the
interstate. "Summertime"
by the Sundays was on my radio, and I felt incredibly good. I took this
picture to capture the moment:
Near
Indianapolis, there is a sign for the border between Whitestown and Brownsburg.
I laugh everytime I pass by.
On
the border of Indiana and Ohio, there is this arc. A few years ago, the
motto for Ohio was "The Heart of it All." Nowadays, I think
it's "Discover Ohio."
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I
pull into Columbus a little after midnight, and roll up to Juliet's house.
She lives in German
Village , a rather cool, old part of Columbus... Victorian houses,
brick-paved streets. Always a part of the city where I secretly wanted
to live.
We
shot the shit for a good long while, splitting a pint of Jim Beam between
us. We got caught up on gossip, showed each other pictures, and talked
about everything big and small. Time with Juliet is nice, and I don't
even notice the hours passing. Before long, it's 3 AM, we're both drunk
and making Nachos in her kitchen... and trying to not make a mess.
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