I went for a really long walk today. We’re talking like 10 whole blocks round trip. Yep, I walked to the 7-11 convenience store, instead of driving, for pack of smokes for the 1st time in the 10 years I’ve lived in this neighborhood.
When I told Mr. Husband I was doing it he looked at me like I was crazy. People just do not walk here in Big D unless they have no other choice. It’s like a status thing. This city isn’t set up for walking and it’s sort of scary. I didn’t bring an iPod, or phone, or to-do list, just keys and 20 dollar bill in my pocket.
I felt like I was walking down the street naked. I wouldn’t have felt any weirder if I was crawling down the shoulder of a highway. But an interesting thing happened. I wasn’t sight-seeing because I’ve seen this street a gazillion times. No distractions, TV, radio, looking around, talking – just walking and thinking. I was little shocked at how odd it felt. It left me with nothing to do except think.
At first my mind decided to interpret the oddness as ridiculous fears. What if I trip and fall, what if someone runs over me or kidnaps me. Then the scariest fear of all hit me. “Oh my God, what if I can’t write a good story because I’m not outrageous, ballsy, over-the-top enough. I had to stop right there on the sidewalk and bend over to lean on my knees because it made me laugh so hard. If anybody saw me I hope they thought I was taking a breather from jogging.
It occurred to me that I’ve been sort of hiding in the suburbs. I was living my life so hard and fast that I needed a break. My mind drifted back over the vignettes I’ve been writing in a memoir of sorts. When I read back over them I think, good grief, if someone told me tales similar to what I’ve done I wouldn’t even believe them. Then a blessed Eureka moment occurred. I don’t even have to make up stuff for a work of fiction. I only have change names and places to come up with one helluva a bizarre tale. Writers have suggested it to each other for years, but it never really sunk into me, my heart, until today.
Then I went back to mental fidgeting. Yes I could fictionalize my life story, but I’m not done living yet. How do you come up with an ending when it hasn’t happened yet? I guess that’s where the creative thinking comes in. And who says it has to have an absolute ending anyway? My tales wouldn’t fit in one book anyway. Tally ho! I’m off again, re-inspired and ready to rock.
Howdy all. Been so busy yakking about wanting to travel and planning to travel that I forgot to mention that I’m leaving town. 🙂
Mr. Husband, his mom and I are hitting the road in a couple of hours. We’re heading off to Houston for another cousin’s wedding. His family is a hoot. They do love weddings. And they know how to throw a party, lemme tell ya!
It’s only a 4 day trip, but I’ve spent days trying to figure out what I want to bring with me. We’re not flying so I don’t have to worry about liquids or sharp objects in my luggage. Always need plenty of both on a road trip. Oh and a bottle opener. You never seem to have one when you need one and I never mastered opening a beer bottle with a cigarette lighter. My sister can do it and I was impressed when I saw it the first time.
Once I got laughed at for bringing a camping ax with me in the car. They weren’t laughing when we had to use the ax to hack of a big hunk of car tire that shredded and was flapping against the fender so hard we thought we were going to crash. It worked long enough for us to get to a station to buy a new tire. Who’s laughing now? Ha, I say!
Houston is hotter than the first few levels of hell in the summer time, so it’s a tricky mix to pack for a dressy occasion with clothes that won’t make you swelter any more than necessary. I’m not bringing any stockings, that’s for sure. All attention will be on the bride anyway. My naked legs are nobody’s business but my own.
Hubman and his mother are both side seat drivers and spend the majority of their time together either telling the other one how to drive or where to turn, while the other is yelling “don’t tell me how to drive.” My plan is to hide in the back seat most of the way there. Plug in my Ipod, and read or stare out the window. Maybe if I put a towel over my head they will forget I’m back there, yea buddy.
So anyhow. It’s off we go. I’m going to experiment with not lugging my laptop with me this time. So I may drop off the radar this weekend. If I get the overwhelming urge to say something in the meantime I can always borrow Hubman’s laptop. Right after I pry it out of cold dead hands. Nah, just kidding. He’s good about sharing. But, thank God his laptop isn’t powerful enough for gaming or it might not be a pretty story.
I’ve had an ongoing love hate relationship with my iPods for years now. They are the greatest invention since sliced bread. I proudly loaded all 57 songs of my vast music library into my first one. Then got busy collecting music. It all seemed straight forward at the time. Get music, load music onto iPod, listen to music. Bing, Bang, Boom. Au contraire. First there’s the digital media rights. Bought and paid for my music (or hubby did) I’ll have you know, and it’s in a box – somewhere. Besides, I thought the whole point of digital was to get teeny-weeny, meaning I didn’t have keep track of all those stupid CDs that were going to be made into wind chimes. It’s in the magical binary microcosm. Got that all that sorted out eventually.
On to creating the eleventy seven millionth password, this one for iTunes. Anyone who has been around computers since they were the size of Oldsmobiles feels my pain. I could publish an encycolopia with all of them created over the years. Well, maybe not a good idea.
But anyway, I should own stock in iTunes by now. In the first bloom of love, I downloaded anything and everything; music, podcasts, smoke signals, pictures of my cat, you name it. I spent days, weeks, sometimes even months ripping my hair out trying to remember or find out the names of songs. Then accidently clicked a button in iTunes one day by dropping a fork on the keyboard and discovered that the music could be all arranged into groupings referred to as ALBUMS. Here I been downloading this song and that song willy nilly and raiding the husbands CD collection, which hasn’t been updated since the early 80s. Musical nirvana was at hand. Always loved music, but music always came to me, I didn’t control it.
Until now. My music is at my fingertips. It is portable, organizable, quantifiable. I think the version I have at the moment is the iPod Chortle, or something like that. It’s shiny apple green, a technological thing of beauty, but it hates me. I can feel it in my bones. When it’s not rupturing my eardrums, it’s falling out of my pocket and lodging in a crack in the chair. Not aware of this I stand up and rip 2 new holes in my head. Tried keeping it my bra for a while, but never mind. The damn thing runs out of juice at the most in-opportune moments, like the very nano second the wheels of the plane leave the ground.
The final insult happened a few month ago. I spent an entire weekend getting it all loaded up with books on tape, all my favorite music, etc. On a Monday morning at the office I dug it out and hooked it up to my computer at work. It was going to be so wonderful. I could drown all the noises that happen when your crammed into a small space with various co workers. Wouldn’t have to listen to the customized ring tone of someone’s kid blathering “goo goo, gaa gaaaa” or “There’s a Tear in My Beer” set to Kazoo music.
What happened next caused me to shout profanities. Fellow cube dwellers popped their heads up so quick you would think I’d sprayed a can of Ode d’ Pizza around the room. iTunes popped up with some message about an unauthorized computer. Taking temporary leave of my senses, I forgot that we live in a world where we don’t own anything anymore, even if it’s bought and paid for more than once. I poked at the keyboard, the screen grayed out, an then it sucked EVERYTHING out of my iIPOD. Not just iTunes media, but every damn scrap of digital data – books, podcasts, pictures, everything. I’m not making this up. This was supposed to be easy! It pissed me off so much that I the stupid gizmo in a dark crevice in my backpack. It’s been there ever since. I know I can sync it back up, and maybe I’ll forgive it some day. Or maybe I’ll switch to another brand of music player. But, then I’d have to figure it all out again with a new gadget and life is too short.
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