Hydrate, People. We're Heading Out.

Things were going well until they weren't and 42 people were wiped from existence.

First they were blue.

When I wake up tomorrow, I will be well-rested enough and ready for a new week.

It is Spring now. I ate crabs earlier tonight. And chocolate cake.

If cats can love, this one loves me.
If cats can't love, I must smell good to her or be warm when she wants some warm.

I've got things going for me.
I've got clothes and a job and a ceiling over me head that has a roof over it.

When you see the wonder, think of me.
When you eat something stringy, think of me.
When you yawn a little too hard and it makes you cough, think of me. And also think of seeing a doctor, because you might be on your way to some throat troubles you want to avoid. I can tell you all about it.

When the sunlight hits you square in the eyes and your driving and there's traffic all around, just stay calm. Keeping cool will get you far.

I thought back twenty years today and nineteen years and twenty-two-ish years. I thought of long-lost friends who aren't really lost thanks to Facebook. I can see photos of them and their kids and wives and such. And I can see what they've done all these years. The Internet is a funny bird.

My car is a tough cookie. We call it Old Man Echo, now.

The wind is a dull knife and a duller roar.

A penny tastes like victory when you are feeling good. A nail tastes like even more victory when it's new.

A mind is so many things to so many people and an engine. It loves sugar.

A parking lot is shaped like a midwestern state.

A duvet cover holds a comforter in my world. There are no duvets here.

And there are no divers either, despite what the algorithms repeatedly tell me.

In the morning, I'll put a sock over this foot and then a shoe over that and then it'll be the second day of Spring.

I'm lining up the miles and knocking them down, destination after destination.

New places are mirrors. Luggage is penance. Layovers are liminal (no really, I'm telling that straight). Tickets are promises. Tickets are notices. Tickets are printed on paper and will fade and compost and go to soil.

I'm not feeling exactly sexy right now.

Location:These United States