I don't quite know how to say this.

I'm going away.

Off to distant lands unknown, for an unknown period of time.

By that I mean I'm going to Alabama to climb mountains with Sibbitt. I should be back on Tuesday.

I stress the "should be."

I feel ready to go. I have my traveling cloak. I have my traveling notebook. I'm still looking for my traveling hat, but I'm sure it will turn up.

So I guess this is goodbye, Blog, for now.

But it will be a good experience. You can not write about being hungry until you have felt hunger. You can not write about being cold until you have felt cold.

You cannot write about being chased through the streets of Birmingham by a bunch of rednecks in a pick-up truck because you kissed their sister, Gummy Sue, until...well, it's a good thing I have no desire to write about such things. None whatsoever.

I'm excited.

A little nervous, but not too nervous.

What could possibly go wrong?

Snydesdale: Sir?

I: Oh! Dryly Snydesdale! You have startled me, my Head Scrivener.

Snydesdale: Sir, what are you doing in the Royal Scrivening Room at this late hour?

I: I'm working on my death post.

Snydesdale: Your death post, sir? May I ask what a death post is?

I: It's a post that will automatically post a designated time after I die.

Snydesdale: Eh, sir, are you planning on killing yourself?

I: No, of course not, Dryly.

Snydesdale: How is the blog to know that you have...passed on?

I: I'm still working on that.

Snydesdale: Ah. I'll leave you to your work then, sir.

I: You are hardly disturbing me, Dryly. I am finding this task more difficult than I imagined.

Snydesdale: I would imagine it might be rather difficult, sir.

I: Well, it's just this damn beginning. How do you start something like this? I'd like to start off with a joke, but humor may not be appropriate.

Snydesdale: Perhaps a quote?

I: Yeah, perhaps. Hmm...I wish I knew what my last words are going to be.

Snydesdale: I'd expect that would be useful knowledge, yes.

I: For instance, if my last words are "What the Hell?" I could easily use that to lead into "And speaking of Hell...". Heh. Brimstone, now that's funny.

Snydesdale: Quite. Were you expecting to finish this tonight, sir, or may I lock up the Royal Scrivening Room?

I: Well, I did want to get this all taken care of before Saturday...

Snydesdale: Are you planning on doing anything particularly dangerous this weekend, sir?

I: Honestly Dryly, I don't know. Hey! Those are good last words. 'I don't know.'
But one moment, how does this sound?

There once died a boy named Gurg
Whose passing was rather absurd
As he slept in his den
He rolled onto his pen
And now it will only write "Urrrg..."

Well? What do you think?

Snydesdale: Perhaps you should get some sleep, sir.

Where have I been?! Where have you been?!

I was lost for a bit, but I've found my way back. I knew I would.

This is where I've been...


"Thus children are ever ready, when novelty knocks, to desert their dearest ones."

-Peter Pan by James M. Barrie


Freud praised writers for knowing intuitively what analysts studied laboriously...

-The Child That Books Built by Francis Spufford


Delirium: "What's the name for things not being the same always...the thing that lets you know time is happening."

Dream: "Change."

-The Sandman: Brief Lives by Neil Gaiman


There is a big difference between being not knowing where you are and being lost, I think. I could run to my dictionary and be more specific, but I don't think I'll do that now.

I guess not knowing where you are is the more basic idea because it only involves one person, that is, yourself.

Being lost brings to mind someone other than yourself, wondering as to your whereabouts, worrying about your absence, and hoping you find your way.

Being lost is what happens when someone is looking for you but cannot find you.

It is something to muse about. Am I lost, or do I just not know where I am?

While I was registering for my classes the other morning, a poster on the wall of my advisor's office proclaimed that "You must leave where you are...to be where you want to be." (Then it had a picture of some guy climbing a rock. From the looks of his lime-green and hot-pink climbing outfit, he was probably climbing that rock in the very early 90's.)

So poster, let me ask you this: What if "where I want to be" is right here, exactly where I am now? Where's the inspirational poster for that? Surely, not everyone is scrambling madly to get to somewhere else.

In general, I suppose that's good advice for the college student, but what about the advisor? She has to sit in her office day after day staring at this thing. Is she wishing she were somewhere else? Or is it one of those, "It's too late for me, save yourself!" kinda things?

If I ever have any kind of office, I'm going to put up a poster that reads "Do you always believe things just because they're laminated and stuck to a wall?" It will have to have some sort of picture...I'm thinking a picture of me holding a half-eaten turkey leg with a puzzled "Who? Me?" expression on my face.

I'll get right to work on that. Just as soon as I finish the the cardboard sign that I plan to hold as I stand by a freeway off-ramp with all the bums and pan-handlers.

My sign will read, "Doin' just fine without you."

And it will be true. Unless an envious bum smashes a liquor bottle over my head and takes my sign.

There are worse things, I suppose.

An Off-Night/Day

After waking from series of disturbing dreams, I registered for some classes. Nothing too wild, just an English class, a mythology class, a journalism class, macro-economics, and a beginning acting class.

I'm convinced that each one will be incredibly useful should I ever to decide to pursue an actual goal.

The dreams were interesting because they weren't exactly good dreams, but they weren't nightmares either.

In each dream, I would be in a fairly typical setting with fairly typical people doing fairly typical things. The only thing that stood out was that my dream-self was astoundingly drunk. Stupefyingly drunk. Falling down, slurring, tunnel-visioned drunk.

Well, perhaps me being drunk doesn't exactly catapult us out of the realm of "fairly typical," but there is more. I knew that my dream-self hadn't touched a drop of alcohol. It was like a curse, where I was just trying to go about my day but couldn't because I was too soused anyway.

Withdrawal, perhaps?

It has been a few days. We'll see.

A 5-K to Remember

Sibbitt and I ran a five-kilometer race down at Papago Park. It was a lot of fun. There's nothing like losing to a little girl and a bunch of elderly people that really makes you glad that you got up early on a freezing Saturday morning.

Seriously, she was little. And they were really old. I swear I saw one guy climb out of his iron lung mere seconds before the race started. And one lady was trailing along an extension cord so that she could power the life-support machine that she was wheeling along beside her.

Lousy fast old ladies.

No, that's not fair. I should really be mad at myself. Well, myself and the people that make such portable life-support units.

One Less Lopez To Worry About

Donaldo also went back to Georgia on Saturday. He'll be there for a few weeks, then head out to California for more random military training. Five months from now he will be done with the Army after three years of service.

Well, I guess now we all know who the most perseverant Lopez is.

More Milestones

My father celebrated his 55th birthday last night. His present: a Honda Rebel. (It's a motorcycle.)

I'm the only one in the family licensed to operate a motorcycle, so it fell to me to pick it up and ride it home.

Let's just say I'm a bit afraid of riding motorcycles.

No, let's just say I'm afraid of riding motorcycles because I don't so much ride them as crash them.

I've never been seriously injured. Mostly embarrassed.

I had not ridden in over a year.

I had forgotten how free you feel on a motorcycle. It's a completely different world. I've missed it.

Hmm....