who?
twenty second october | noon
"Wiggers" are not enthusiasts of William Henry Harrison's Whig Party
Washington, DC
Was it R*d**h**d who said, "The more you drive, the dumber you get?" Even if it was them, it's true: hours upon hours spent behind the wheel of my car have provided experiences ranging from the exhilarating to the white-knuckled bite-the-wheel frustrating, but never ever mentally stimulating. Even with the A/C cranked up, there were times crossing the Arizona desert where I sweated grey matter through my head-pores like Robin Williams on a coke binge. It must be the intellectual company of Oneblackbird and having visited two excellent museums (the Holocaust and Natural History) in two days that's doing it, but I miss even the relative leisure I used to have outside my 9-2-5 to read and write. I've been steadily accumulating books along the way, books which are taking up far more useful space in my trunk than in my mind. I don't know why, in the midst of a Grand Tour, I feel the need to be boring. I think, maybe, as *a*io*ea* have no doubt said somewhere, fountains of wisdom that they are, that if reading and writing are a means of dreaming while awake, then they keep me sane in the same way that actual dreaming saves us from psychosis.
It's day 48, which means very soon I'll be heading north to PA and NJ, to visit Sooner, and hopefully Peth, Bitchelicious et al. I still don't have the slightest clue as to what I'm going to do, and where I'm going to live, and for how long, etc. once this is over. This is starting to worry me a little.