A hundred miles and running. I’ve been keeping myself busy, occupied, embracing the opportunities and moments that pass before me. I waved and greeted every single one with a smile. You get what you give and I’ve been playing catch with life. Sometimes I enjoy it, sometimes I fake it, but it always leads to something else, regardless. Though I enjoyed the artistic flammability of being in the pit of despair, carpe diem has proven advantageous. Whether it leads me to invent a new dance on the back of a pickup truck, or incidentally becoming a curator for an art opening, (until the actual curator shows up,) or signing up to take a Jeep-pulled wagon tour of the San Andreas fault, or even planning a trip to Indonesia, I still find myself quite lonely at times. It’s just not as fun without someone’s hand to hold. I’ve met a few charmers, but you can’t con a con artist. Though I’m having fun and staying mobile, I know this query into the unknown is a crutch, much like alcoholics drink to avoid reality. My misery is in the suite of a good time.
Life’s a gas, but as long as I’m a mobile loather, I don’t look so unapproachable. But I still get tired and want to stay in for the evening, bathed in the company of a good book. There’s much work to be done,