We’re westbound on I-70, and it’s beautiful, and the sun is shining, and Heather’s playing 90s music. Generally, this would fill me with joy. It’s the westbound run that makes me feel like I’m leaving it all behind – but it’s a short trip and the weight of what I’m leaving is equal to what I’ll be coming home to, so there’s no sense of relief.
My guitar is still in the shop, and it’s beginning to look ominously like I’ll be buying a new instrument rather than repairing the old. This brings up SO many questions – from where the money’s going to come from to having to redo my entire effects rig unless I rip the pickup out of the old guitar (more expense) and install it in the new guitar (even more expense). There are shows and events that I’m worried about – and that’s before I even start my heard worrying about the event looming on November 8th. I’m not feeling terrifically healthy right now, sneezy and allergic to everything, and that’s kept me from the gym, which makes me feel less healthy… recording is going slow, practices for the the big show on the 26th are going slow. Everything’s going slow except for what’s going entirely too fast.
I’m watching the rocks and trees flash past. The one lone groundhog. The 18-wheelers and SUVs and sportscars. The shitty Nissan with the huge spoiler that was pulled over right as we got on I-70, causing a patch of slow traffic as everyone decelerated to ogle just passed us like we were standing still, apparently trying to make up for lost time. We’re driving on this pristine asphalt ribbon and I can’t help but think that I’m the only person in the nation that doesn’t take it all for granted. All of these over-opinionated, over-compensating and over-privileged people claiming they never need help from anyone, as if the roads they go to work on ad the web services they rant on are naturally occurring features of the American landscape. I’m worried that my mood is drifting lower and lower, and I wanted to hit someone today. Grind them into their own dashboard. I hope I can remain above the fray, but that moment of SNAP, that moment of squish and click the desire to simply crush someone’s neck gets stronger and stronger, and the worst part is that its undirected, and if one ever loses control, the receiving party is almost destined to be just that last straw – an inoffensive wisp of nothing, unimportant, just that least pebble on the mountain that pushes everything towards avalanche.
Curse self-awareness anyway.
Happy Pennsylvania.
