Timestamp: Ohio, sort of

I’m sitting in a Dennys on the edge of the Atlantic.  The sound of the ocean is obscured by this weird mix of unpopular 90s music playing, but it’s there just outside.  I am, of course, brooding.

As a teenager, Dennys always seemed like the pinnacle of late-night transience.  Oddly, when an actual transient, I think I only went to one Dennys.  It might have been in Zanesville, OH, one of the last stops (possibly the very last) before my bike hippie transience melted into just plain East Coast homelessness.  I can picture the motel, perched up on a small hill with grey mountains in the distance, and I can picture the Dennys, on the right side of the road, but fuck if I can remember the town.  I think it was where Siri led me into a ditch, with a grown-over bridge spanning it.

I can’t decide if I miss Highway 40 or not.  Jesus, it was fucking interminable, mile after corn-filled mile.  But my life had a setting, for a little while, and I was a main character, creating a story within it.  Now, again, I’m a background character in my own life.

I did my taxes today (like an adult).  With the money I’m getting back added to my savings (I don’t do anything, or go anywhere, so my savings are being depleted very slowly), I’ll have a reasonable nest egg to move away again.  I’m heavily leaning towards Seattle, because I’ve always wanted to live in the Pacific NW for a little while, and I have many friends there (though it isn’t nearly cold enough for me).

But I can’t deny the itch is still there to just take off on my bike again, when the snow coating Everywhere But Here begins to melt — or to buy a plane ticket to Europe, and then a Eurail pass, and just see how long I can survive.

I am much better at surviving than living.

It’s chilly, at least.  I can see a sliver of the water across A1A, and it looks angry in the darkness, grey and restless.  I am indifferent to the sun-drenched sands, but I love the ocean deep in my bones.  The Pacific feels like a stepsister I only see once every handful of years; I want to see her again, but we aren’t close.

I apologize for my inactivity here (and everywhere); I hope that all of you who are un/fortunate enough to not be here in the hot lands are surviving winter.

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