A transient dream:
Like two rabbits in the snow,
our tracks disappear

-----

I plead no-contest, but they still charge me the full amount. Rightfully so: I was driving like an asshole. However, as I was >30 mph over the posted limit and had a previous speeding ticket within the last year, I was put into a whole new bracket. On top of the base fine, I also earn a 30 day suspension on my driver's license. How terribly embarrassing.

Clearly, it was a shit-ass day, but there was one tiny silver thread: paying my outrageous fines with official Nascar checks, complete with the phrase "See you at the finish line" above the signature line. Chase bank free checking represent.

With massive amounts of paperwork and phone calls, I worked a deal where I could drive to and from work, but only during specified times, only on specified routes. Beyond that: vast swaths of time, confined to the suburbs. Alone.

I intended it to be a time of reflection, a search for clarity, a vision quest.

In reality, I just ended up running a lot. Faster and further than ever before.

-----


I step off the plane, greeted by a warm Austin evening. The sun barely below the horizon, the sky radiates a warm orange. With little more than a backpack of clothes and a laptop, I make my way across the tarmac to the towncar.

I'm there for an initial client meeting, taking the place of my boss, the owner of the company. It's a lightning trip -- there and back in just two days with nearly 16 hours of meetings in between.

The first day is arduous, and I'm quite nervous, but I kill it.

Later that night, laying in bed, my mind races. Sleep is elusive. Arbitrary long-division in my head, my sure-fire trick for falling asleep, isn't working. I find myself recounting the hotels I've occupied, but I get sidetracked and start thinking about the dwellings I've called "home."

The house. Our apartment. My apartment. Suburban shithole. SE Grant. Laserbeamz. A-frame. Dorms. Homestead.

Except I forgot one: the apartment I shared with my college roommate as an intern. My first taste of what post-collegiate life could be like. Fleeting, nebulous times.

Dreams of the salad days: I pictured exploring the city, the adventure. I pictured an impossibly awesome job. I pictured the nerd-level cash-flow. I imagined my lifestyle. I imagined my friends. I imagined my women. I imagined freedom, sheer possibility.

Suddenly slapped with a moment of perspective, a chuckle escapes: Attempting to patch my broken heart, I'm inadvertently fulfilling the dreams of a younger existence.

-----



Heartbreak makeover:
_ forget to eat for the first six months
_ run until you can't
_ exercise 'til you're limp
_ stop getting haircuts
_ stop shaving
_ get out of your comfort zone
_ new clothing
_ smile more
_ never break eye-contact first
_ don't let the nightmares get to you

Results:
_ 45 pounds lighter
_ +1 stamina
_ a touch of muscle
_ an amazing head of gorgeous hair
_ a beard that gives you sexual powers.
_ new perspective
_ flashin'
_ more smiles
_ new found confidence
_ fading scars

-----

This house is comfortable, but completely haunted.

-----



I finally sold my old car.

The day before the sale is to be made, I take it to the car wash for one last clean-up. It's served me well -- I wanted it looking good for it's final send-off.

Turning the knob to 'wash,' I dig through my pockets, grabbing a handful of quarters. I feed them into the machine with remarkable rhythm. I grab a coin that feels different. I pause to inspect -- a Susan B. Anthony dollar. For a brief moment, I get excited to give it to her, as she loves semi-rare coinage. And then I realize that I can't. And my heart drops, just a little.

Washed and vacuumed, I weave through the deserted backroads that we so frequently traveled. I cant't help but feel a bit overwhelmed. Little moments of longing like splinters, scattered memories like shards of glass.

The next day, watching it drive away, I imagine a 1.5-ton time-capsule slowly rolling out of my life.

Adios.

-----

This new one: I don't know what to do. Completely captivating. I'm uncertain how this will play out, but at least I know I'm not completely dead inside, that I'm still capable of emotion. This is good news.

-----

We're out in the top right corner of Oregon, putting my grandfather in the ground. It's the first time I've seen my last name on a tombstone.

-----


It's 7am and I'm the first one there. I disarm the alarm and hit the lights. Slowly, the 14,000 square foot warehouse illuminates. I pull out my phone, hit some buttons and the entire place fills with music. I set my bag on the ping-pong table, grab a skateboard and roll to the kitchen. Sitting there, french press ready, waiting for water to boil, the sun pours through the windows to a perfect soundtrack.

I get paid to be here. Unreal.

Even better? I'm an integral piece of something I believe in.

-----



Introducing distance is becoming an unsavory trademark.

A shoddy, self-induced excuse for a change of scenery.

-----



I don't like the way we left things. Not necessarily unfinished, yet somehow unresolved. For weeks, I imagined just what I would say, just how I would spill my guts, if I were to see her face. But a year later, the potential of such an occurrence seems nil. And probably unnecessary.

Regardless:

I'm sorry for all the shit-ass things I ever did.
I'm sorry that I couldn't bring you happiness.
I'm sorry that our wonderful story had to end this way.
I'm sorry.

Farewell, babe.

-----


Find stability
casting off what holds you down.
Anchors and Ballast.

Anchors & Ballast

eric

Monday 14 November 2011 at 7:56 pm

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