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Apathy. Monotony. Assumption. Conformity. If I had to create a Top Ten of my most despised states of being, these would play starring roles. What brought me to this deep philosohical conclusion was a simple diversion from my usual path, when leaving the work world in my rearview early Thursday morning. There were night construction delay warnings for 28, this and next week, which set me backtracking on my usual blue highway to leave this piece of the jigsaw puzzle. The pattern has been a high speed dash with after-midnight traffic... playing autobahn on the on/off ramps... doing the asphalt dance with the head-and-taillights of big rigs, minivans, bling-bling ricerockets... always on the same pipeline of road. Heading in the same direction, same distance on a different course materialized a whole different mood and mindset. Fog, obscured snaking highway, the dark reversed face of the same way I travel made the whole trip just...different, even when I rejoined the path just before Warrenton. Now that's interesting. The familiar landmarks of neon signs, stoplights, and the string-of-pearls of oncoming headlights seemed unfamiliar. All because of aiming the wheels in a divergent way. Which brought those words to mind, up there. And how easy it is to get trapped by the bastards without tweaking the norm. Guess I'm getting itchy "again." Make that "ever." Pace changing time. But I'd better find a way to do it cheap, 'cause my purse has got moths flying around in it, Jack. Rent and car insurance on the same paycheck put a serious crimp in my style. Getting the news that the Trooper head was cracked (wow, CrackHead) and peek at the dentist's bill doesn't look too pretty, either. At least my choppers are getting sorted. And I'm finding out that my jawbreaker is hip. Beer-drinker. Non-Republican. Go ahead, shoot me up... we both know what's going to happen to my li'l brainbox when I uncork that Newcastle on the lidocaine. Mack Daddy, DDS. Once I get some of the accumulated obligations out of the way, this camera's going to get some exercise. Like everything else with me, once I put the first foot forward, it just keeps on moving. My mission... to find a way to make all of my projects ongoing like a strand of DNA, instead of separate little obsessions, like a patchwork quilt. There's a challenge. -------------------------------------------- Here's a stupid game I play. Years ago when my mother had a sitter for us (the Masons... an unholy and poverty-stricken trip), her son would try to bullshit us with such crap as "if Perry Mason were real, he'd be my first cousin." Even a six-year-old knows that is total horseshit. But, with that kind of thinking... If James Bond really existed (and the botany writer that Fleming lifted the name from, did), we'd be at the same family reunion. So would the MacDonalds from Monarch of the Glen (a BBC/Scotland thing). I was doing some fantasising about wearing a kilt when I work up on the mountain (if I want to jump around in a gorilla suit up there, dammit, I CAN... maybe not during hunting season). So, I did some websearching for tartans and found one that matched families with the patterns... and plugged in some names of my ancestors. Sure enough, the Daniels were related to... the Macdonalds. Hot Damn! Instant justification. And there's that pattern thing, again. |
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