just get in the car
It’s 11 days beyond two years ago when I first rolled into Encinitas around four in the afternoon on a Saturday and became a permanent resident of California. I remember the day well, up on the bluff above Moonlight Beach before getting in the car again and crusing up the Boulevard to find the room in which I would live the next three months – and flee from in a haze of substance abuse, endless ants, and an internet which was always the hider in a forever game of tag.
And here I am this Friday, getting back in the car, weighed down again with bags of books and writing materials, funky old clothes, guitars I can barely play, and a big, big heart. Traveling about three miles versus the 1001 back in July 2021. And wildly thrilled at the doorstep – Here – of a life with a most honorable woman, a quiet and lovely neighborhood, and eager eyes, boundless in their periphery, chock full with wonder, and been-here-all-along goofiness. Just this.
This computer, the physical conduit of ‘Couch Surfing’, will be disconnected shortly and dropped into a box. Hopefully to be – unlike Humpty – put together again. Same bookcase. Same bureau. Entirely different view. Which includes going to work in a couple of hours. And the muscle memory of moving. Like a hundred thousand moves.
And more memories.