Ersendaam

I Don’t Wanna Fall to pieces I Just Wanna sit & stare at you. I Don’t Wanna talk About it. I Don’t want a conversation…

i woke up two hours after i wanted to leave today. sonofabitch. i grabbed everything i own and threw it in the trunk of my car. this routine is familiar to me. i made a few more calls than were necessary and hesitated more than i ought to have. (dragging my feet is also part of my routine). i googlemapped my way home. second star to the right and straight on til morning if i remember correctly. this is not a difficult drive. this is not a long drive. this is not goodbye. this is see you soon.

i’m off to follow my lover. she doesn’t communicate well. she speaks in riddles. i don’t understand her. but i love her. she always gives just enough to keep me coming back for more. but i’ll be damned if she doesn’t have some cruel sense of timing. (she only calls when she knows i’m busy).

“ok dad. i’ll see you tonight. i love you.” i had the best intentions. i had already missed father’s day by 24 hours so i could try to meet up with my friend Rest one last time before i skipped town. i haven’t really seen her since i left my job about a month ago. i guess that’s my fault tho. i know where to find her. but she likes to call it quits pretty early on and i’ve become somewhat of a sucker for those arizona sunrises. @Rest, i’m sorry about the distance between us lately. it’s not you, it’s me. i guess i only have time for you when i’m at the end of myself.

i texted my aunt as i should have been pulling up to her front door. “i’m going to be a little late. just leaving town now” “you’ll get here by 9 if you don’t stop along the way” “k see you then. love you” “love you too”. five years of catching up glossed over in a couple texts. thanks twitter for teaching me the virtues of 140 characters or less.

all that’s left to do is fill up this mug with 100 ounces of goodness. try as i might i’ve never been able to finish this damn thing. it taunts me every time i pick it up. it’s heavy and my hand is tired. i’m on the fast track to kidney stones. there was a time where i was downing 150 ounces of dr pepper a day. 10-2-4 for life. but try as i might i can’t finish this thing. today will be different. it’s me and the open road. i will defeat you. one ounce at a time you will be mine.

three hours later my bladder and my heart (both the size of texas) are full to bursting. my bladder from dr pepper and my heart from the joy of victory. my desire to avoid public restrooms took a backseat to my desire to not show up at my aunt’s house having peed myself. thanks so much arizona rest stop. i walked past the homeless bearded wanderer without so much as a hello. (strange, as that is my favorite type of human). all my energy was being spent not pissing myself. success. i zipped up, washed my hands and then held them under that machine that’s supposed to dry them. on my way back to my car i stopped to say hello to him. at least i wanted to say hello. all that came out was “do you need a ride?” his sign said silver city. it could have said “not too far out of your way”. it should have said “where you belong”.

we compared notes on wandering. on the joys of owning little. on the joys of giving much. we talked about the way things are. the way we want them to be. we talked about graffiti. about what it means to be human. about fuck the border patrol. about posession. ownership. property. boundaries. rights. privilege. luxury. necessity. the real world. the plastic world. community. thoreau. alexander supertramp. slab city. kerr county folk festival. no more deaths. language. validation. hope. aspirations. dreams.

august (the wanderer) was wonderful. he knows my lover. seems he’s been following her for sometime too. apparently wanderlust knows not fidelity.

in exchange for his company and conversation i offered him a pair of socks, a marker and a partially used sketchbook. actually i offered him everything i had. he took only what he had use for. i love him for this. i’ll write him at his permanent mailing address. i hope he’ll call me one day. i promised him i’d do anything i can to help him out as needed. i want to be needed.

i’m glad i spent some time with Rest before i left town. i’m glad i finished all 100 ounces. i’m glad i decided to pee in a public space. they led me to august.

august (the wanderer) offered me a glimpse at what these next few weeks might look like. august (the month) is looking mighty fine.