Jan 02, 2011 23:13
The crossroads. When did I hit them? Was I busy looking at an oversized, overused, underfolded map? Was I painting my toenails or staring at myself in the mirror to see which angle I look best from, and wondering how I'll look when I'm sixty--wondering if I'll age gracefully or if I'll start getting those alcoholic's wrinkles and tanner's melanoma spots on my face? Was I counting cows or checking roadsigns for grammatical errors?
Somewhere along the 2000 mile drive I apparently found them, passed through them, and wound up here.
I was under the impression that when you hit the proverbial crossroads, you were meant to be aware of their existence. I had this picture in my head of an old negro man leaning against a cased acoustic guitar wearing a straw hat, asking me which way was I headed.
A perpendicular dusty four way stop in the middle of Nebraska or some such nothing state and nothingness the only thing in sight.
Instead they must have come while I was changing the presets or sifting through the CDs, looking for the beef jerky or trying to hide the Miller Light in some gas station cup because let's face it, beers don't really look like Diet Cokes to cops.
So here I am, not at a crossroads, but at a stop light that hasn't quite hit green, not red anymore, and fading fast from yellow.
I don't know where I am, so I guess I'll get out that overused, oversized, balled up map I've been keeping at my feet, pick a highway, and get started on a journey--
on a journey
on a journey
forward, I guess.
Just forward.