So yay, I’ve made it, thanks to everyone who helped me get here, even the one who tried to ditch me. Staying in Missoula for about half a week, then I’m gonna hang and catch up my writing and help out where I can and do artsy stuff and experience stuff.  Pretty much all the same stuff I do now, but not with the travel aspect.  Hopefully I’ll be able to keep up with it, or I just won’t post in a few months and perhaps the recap there will be even more incoherent than the last.  

So, a couple notes from the last post. Garth and I were married about two years ago when he stepped on a piece of glass that shattered and by Jewish tradition we were married. Sarah is his mistress because they get to have all the fun anyway.  And, I may not believe he gives her enough pretty things, but he does give her portions of the world that she doesn’t already get herself. So my meager present of a  handmade scarf using a loom really is just a trinket.  (Kinda like my Origami, only with slightly more use.)  

This stream of conciousness experiment is becoming a little weird because I’m comparing how I write these with my normal writing and I’m really not noticing any difference, it’s just shorter. So, I’m on an actual laptop right now and not using a touch screen keyboard, so let’s see if shifts how the thoughts get put down.

The local time is now 13:58 PM.

Sweat Bee Buddy

The little sweat bee landed on my hand and I just stared at it for a while. Burnt Prarie wasn’t necessaricly a barren wasteland just a  tall thin raked land that had very little features. It also didn’t get as much traffic as it could have. I waited for a good four hours and literally 20 cars passed me by, although I was able to conjure up about half of those as smiles. The time was mostly spent thinking about my friends, letting the little sweat bee flutter around me, in fact I grew quite attach to it because it would always land on the side of my left hand just above the first knuckle of my index finger. It would side with my bag or flit around the water bottle that was still filled with manufactured hydration fluid that tasted like pink would taste if you were to take something that was not normally pink, probably yellow or green and then turn it pink.

 

The truck stop that I sat at sold burgers very cheaply and I wanted to try to talk to the cashier more. She, however wasn’t having any of it and served my burger and fries with a brisk attitude and only a reactionary smile when I said how grateful I was. I sat and ate and made some notes and then a truck driver also ordered some food at this little divey type of place and sat down behind me. I didn’t even know they had squeeze bottles of ketchup and felt silly about the four or five packets I grabbed that still wasn’t enough. So when he was finished making his potato and ketchup soup I asked if I could use the bottle.

I’ve met truckers before, only because they’ve picked me up but this one was terse and I tried broaching the topic of hitchhiking and he said some BS about liability that trucking companies are supposedly responsible for, but I think it’s just because there’s no money in picking up hitchhikers. Or maybe he just had never been a rule breaker.

It was a hot day, actually a hot entire week which I will mention in many of these posts I think even though it doesn’t seem all that bad now also I think writing froma remembering perspective is getting to be more pontificaty so I hope I don’t do that, that’s the one thing– but anyway after the trucker leaves, nothing in his head changed and I doubt he will even remember the interaction, I also felt that it was time to just go stand by the road when I pass a guy who’s smoking a cigarette. and I think well, might as well have a bit of comfort, not to mention it’s also a way to hang out by someone and strike up conversation without it becoming too weird. I bum one and notice that he’s wearing a UK hat and him if he lives in Lex and he said that he used to.

Well, he turned out to be my first ride, but he was going in the opposite direction. Sometimes you have to take a step back to take a step foreward, and Evansville was a much bigger place and not too far back.  So it seemed that it would have been easier just to the car show but I felt like my time with them was done. Besides now I have an over idealized memory of the Kiser Farm and that is enough for me.

The drive is spent going over what I do and all that, and it was before I started writing down people’s at least first names and so I think that Gideon (not his real name and not to be confused with the Gideon that took Sara Garth and I to outside of Indy.)   was a very nice fellow. He told me about the sociology books that he liked to read, and I folded for him a Lotus. He had a beard and a good smile and a fun sense of music. He dropped me off on the turnaround in Evansville and it was too dark to get another ride, so I walked a couple miles past the truckstops, through a large feild of empty space in front of large McMansions and at the corner of two soy feilds and some tall trees behind a fire pit laid down.

The time is now 2:18

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