Afternoon Check-In

Jb's sandal's on the floor; I pulled it out of a box because it was, like me, lost. The cat's in the window. I'm in my chair in front of the computer. My stomach hurts. I'm hungry. But I can't be buggered to fix something. I am riding this ache inside me, somewhere near my heart, that yearns for my family and friends in IL. What it really yearns for is connection, and I never feel the freedom of connection and contentment except when I'm driving in the car with Jb, the windows down, the music up, chain smoking the miles away. My hand rides the air outside the car window, and something in me breaks up, breaks free, and the world fills me up--not people--the world. It's the only place I feel like myself anymore. So on the weekends we take long ass drives to wherever, to Sykesville, Columbia, almost always north, though I think Jb has plans to head east this weekend, toward the water. I'd like that. I'd like anything that meant speed and wind and words and music. It's as if you can outrun depression until the only reason to run is the running.