Road Trip

A while back, a window colleague in Detroit bought some glass from a deconstruction job site I was working on in Vermont, with the understanding that she and I would see each other at a conference later that year, so I could deliver the glass to her. I ended up not going to the conference, and our schedules got complicated, so the glass moved with me when I relocated to Connecticut a few weeks ago. We finally got our schedules to synch up for a day, so we drove to a halfway point in the middle of Pennsylvania for the hand-off. The trip went splendidly, the glass went home with her, and it's one less thing for me to stress about, finally.

Back when I thought I might be driving all the way out to Detroit to make the delivery, I mentioned the trip to someone who didn't know me very well, and he asked when I'd be going so he could put it on his calendar and come with me, phrased in such a way as to suggest he was making this offer for my benefit, as if I needed help. I scoffed a little and told him I'd be making the trip alone, and he seemed taken aback. I'm far happier driving by myself most of the time -- having all that time to myself without having to strain to hear what a companion is saying or force myself to be social is part of the joy of long trips. I can listen to whatever I like, chatter to myself, admire the scenery, stop when I need to, and not have to worry about anyone's needs but my own. It's wonderful! So his "helpful" offer was an unwelcome imposition, especially given that he didn't ask whether I wanted company first.

Yesterday's trip was lovely, but for the intermittent rain that pestered me all day. Getting on the road at 5:45am on a Sunday made for a traffic-free drive out, and even the traffic I encountered on the way back wasn't too bad. Part of the trip was through an area I've never travelled before, and I loved broadening my range. I did discover that Pennsylvania is awful about picking up roadkill -- I must've seen three dozen deer carcasses, and about as many birds (hawks, vultures, and turkeys), in addition to occasional coyotes and opossums. I passed the hospital in which I was born, stopped for dinner a few miles from where my father grew up, and marveled at how much things have changed.

I'm a little sad that I don't have any other long trips to look forward to in the near future, but I'm sure I'll come up with something. And I'll do it alone, because, for me, that's the best way to travel.

Adrenaline Rush

I have a long day with a very early start tomorrow, so I got up early today and have been keeping active to fend off a mid-afternoon nap. Just as I was feeling my energy start to wane, I glanced out the window and saw one of my housemate's dogs roaming free.

We got her back after a block-long chase, but my heart's still pounding. I'm awake, for sure!

Just My Luck

I've been out of town visiting a friend for a few days, and, as a result of my fussy body not liking beds that aren't mine, not sleeping well. I rather assumed that when I got home today I'd take a short nap, do some chores, putter about until my normal bedtime, and then get a proper night's sleep.

That's more or less what happened, except for the proper night's sleep bit. I've been staring at the ceiling for two hours now, yawning every few minutes, but unable to fall asleep.

Anybody got a brick they can come hit me with? Please?

Mother Clucker

We have chickens. We have one chicken in particular, Violet, who, as we discovered today, has a skill: escaping.

The chickens are in a pen with six-foot-tall chain-link walls. I was working in the yard earlier today, and out of the corner of my eye I see a flash of white. I take a closer look, and there's Violet on the wrong side of the wall. I catch her, put her back in with the rest of the flock, and go back to my work. A few minutes later, there she is again, outside the pen. I get her back in again, block up a couple of spots where she might be squeezing through, and go back to work. Not two minutes later, I learn her secret -- I happen to look up just as she's going over the wall. With cat-like skills, she's catching quick claw-holds on the chain link to power herself up and over whenever she wants to get out.

The other surprise was when I found out why she's been getting out. She kept going for this one spot tucked behind some boards leaning up against a wall, so I pulled them back and found... eggs! Nine of them! All fresh (passed the float test with nary a bobble)! Apparently she doesn't like laying in the nesting boxes with the other girls, so she's made her own spot.

Normally we'd turn a problem chicken into dinner, but those eggs? They're jumbos, some of them double-yolkers. It means she's one of our best layers.

She lives. She's in detention until we can figure something out, but she lives.

Life with chickens never ceases to be entertaining.

Grrrrrrump

The move is complete. I'm settling in a few blocks from where I grew up, boggling at how many changes have happened in the four years since I last lived here, and trying to decide what to do next.

In looking at my options, I'm feeling more defective and dejected than I usually do. There are jobs I could do if I weren't autistic, if I didn't have a hearing disability, if that car accident a few years ago hadn't damaged my knees. The ones that remain viable despite those handicaps aren't terribly appealing, and the thought of getting back on the treadmill of working to pay bills to work to pay bills fills me with a sort of existential fury at the futility of it all.

Add to that my lack of ambition, or at least ambition in the modern sense, and I'm feeling stuck. I don't want to pursue any particular career, I don't want to go back to school... those options feel pointless in this swirling cloud of nihilism that's been getting thicker and more oppressive the older I get. I want to live a quiet, agrarian life away from other people, away from red tape and bureaucratic bullsh*t... but that option isn't available to me, because there are always taxes and fees and regulations and forms that require funding on a personal level, and those funds have to come from somewhere, which, in my case, means a job. With my resumé, it means a job that barely pays the rent and leaves me too exhausted to do anything else.

It's hard to keep one's chin up when it feels like the entire world, the era and culture in which one lives, is toxic to one's very existence.