Garrett (garote) wrote,

Freeway writing

The freeway smells like shit. I just passed a big diesel truck. I’m typing this as I drive. That’s a first. The detached keyboard makes it easy.

All kinds of thoughts are whirling around my brain, asking what to do next, giving suggestions. None of them are clear, none are the ‘right’ choice.

Argh! Goddamn vintage cars with their goddamn bright headlights!

So here I go again, back to Carlsbad. Another endless drive passing in an endless night. I’ve been telling myself for a while now that I need some kind of big change, or pressure, to move forward. I also suspect I’m still partially in a rut from the big breakup, even though I’ve been away from her for almost as long as we dated. What’s up with that?!

I recently met someone that I like, but she’s apparently not the settling down or one-person type. She makes no demands, of course, but I am pulled by her presence, to linger in Southern California, and be accessible. She herself says “Don’t change your plans for the sake of a woman.” And though I am free to make my own advice, once I take note of WHO is saying that, it puts a different spin on things.

Good people are in short supply. Accessible people even more so.

My money supply dwindles faster than I expected it to. It’s mostly all this out-of-home eating. That even outstrips the gas bill in terms of expenses. That has to stop. If I had a kitchen to call my own, it would be easier I think.

So I’ve given myself three weeks. At the end of this month I’m going to head up to Santa Cruz. If the room isn’t ready, I’ll just wait longer – that’s fine. Santa Cruz is a good destination. I stand a chance of being happy there. Especially if I get the same job I had before.

And from there, who knows. In this three weeks I’m going to wrap up a bunch of projects as quickly as possible, and undertake a new one. That’s what this roadtrip was in preparation for … I needed my main system, $TIN_LOAF, down here to do the legwork.

I truly don’t know where all this is going to lead. It seems I keep moving to places, and running into people, that I am unable to attach to, or that do not want to attach to me. It’s been an ongoing conflict of privacy and social needs. Marina Del Rey, Pasadena, Carlsbad … these have all been strikeouts.

After this three weeks, and he closure of a bunch of projects, I’ll probably know what’s in store for me a little more clearly. I feel like the lead character in a meandering, overlong novel, where the writer has lost all trace of the original plot, and is just marching his character from one unrelated situation to the next, hoping that something sticks, too stubborn to toss out the work and start a fresh novel.

Ever feel like that? Like your life was written with some audience in mind, who has now left the theatre and gone out for coffee? Every now and then something glimmers, and the music swells, and the man in the front row with his hat over his face jolts awake and looks at the screen, just in case it’s about to get interesting again, and he can call everyone back inside to watch. But the music fades, and the camera cuts away, and the man grumbles and goes back to sleep.

Oops, here comes the grapevine. Traffic’s getting thick. I better sign off.
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