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As I prepare for my junket into the unknown, I have realized nothing. My energies are set for positive ways and hopeful wishes. Making the arrangements and leaving the ‘big mess' I have here at home were easy. The hard part will be returning with everything I had left with including my desire for a wife, self confidence and a general sense of being a good person. I will be with this woman for the next five days, and I am sure there will be good times and bad times. So, here I go again, driving into another strange adventure.
I left the house, hit the road, got gas, and drove northbound. Not since the Autumn of 2000, when I had loved Miss L ,have I traveled this path. Here I am driving into a new adventure. The sky was a great northern blue with swirls of white creamy clouds brushed across with artistic warmth, and I played ‘The White Stripes' song, "There's No Home For You Here" seeing if a foretelling of certain fate was at hand. All this set against the heartland, with its seething solitude, space, and distant farmhouses with dark windows. I anxiously arrived at dusk.
Lying on the air mattress at 3am, wide awake, and wondering if the woman I had just met was honest, normal, true and considerate. We had drank several beers, her leading the way and talked about our lives. She said I looked ‘different' but couldn't elaborate further. I thought her a little misleading and not telling me she was 50 pounds overweight and didn't shower everyday. But those details one discovers later. It was her personality that seemed to ooze uneasiness. Not much warmth or smiling, sort of pretentious and immature. But we left together that morning for the northeast.
Once we navigated the airports, highways, maps and crazy one way vortexes, our adventure had begun. The night before, we saw a great play with one of Jack Kerouac's old flames, Joyce Johnson. She looked ruddy and balding, but still sharp. She moved slowly, but accurately as a beat-chick would be expected too. Her words were uttered with sharp delivery by John Ventimiglia and David Amram's beautiful daughter Adira. With a café latte and a keen eye and ear, I gorged selfishly the words of "Door Wide Open", and Jane and I both agreed it was the best so far.
The next day it rained most of the day. I could tell Jane was a little uneasy, and although I didn't let it bother me, she maintained an air of disgust or childish behavior all day. Her impatience with traffic and the desire for constant attention annoyed me. I wasn't sure if she had expected me to make a move in the room the night before, but I was in no way interested. We participated in more tours of the city of Lowell, Massachusetts, saw more films, met David Amram and listened to a Woody Guthrie tribute later that evening.
It was cool, both out of doors and inside the room of our hotel. Jane suddenly shot a question my way..."Are you upset or angry at something?" "No" I replied, "Just tired" and with that, I drank another beer, and stared blankly at the TV. We hit another tour that morning, on the river Merrimack. It was strange being on a boat with so many cars going by. The walls of the giant brick buildings were built along the riverbank and continued until we floated under old iron and wood bridges, to where the dam made us turn back.
Our final destination was to visit Edson Cemetery and pay homage to the writer we both had admired, for whatever reason. As we drove to the site, I thought of my connection to Kerouac and his words. In the beginning, I was fascinated with the free thought, free wandering soul, and free drug and alcohol use, missing the real meaning to this message. But now, I feel a connection to a more personal belief in America, a love of the true purpose of the Manifest Destiny. A well worn path lead us to his grave, replete with trash and gifts.
Having to leave the cemetery because Jane had to ‘pee', I looked back at the deadness of it all. The theme was nature, rebirth or renewal. I felt that Jane's inconsiderate attitude, her churlishness, and infant behavior could have been left at the hotel, just for once. She is smitten with death and the dead. It's cool to have been a figure of such prominence, then to have died. Like her thirty plus Grateful Dead concerts, obsession with Death. For me, the visit was simply to pay respect, honor his life and not focus on the final act of death.
I kicked around Lowell, looking at the buildings and memorials, old library, The Sun building, Kerouac Commemorative, and the driving stupid. Soon I would be leaving Lowell, the city that held so much mystery for these past few months. I zipped up the leather jacket, and looked at the trash blowing about, and noticed that nothing had changed from the first day I arrived. We say we were here, met a lot of great people, did some interesting things. My experience was that of curiosity and desire for knowledge. I expected everyone got something from it, including the vapid Jane.
After Lowell, we drove to Fall River, Massachusetts, to take in more mystery and allure of the New England way of life. Along the way the only sound we heard in the car was an oldies radio station. Jane and I didn't say much, except when Jane would cringe at my driving technique. Her overreactions were commonplace now, but I would soon find out how melodramatic and scatterbrained she could become. For an hour and a half we drove south and of course got lost as soon as the maps were unfolded. We finally made our destination, early as ever.
Our destination, Lizzie Borden Bed and Breakfast, wasn't ready to accept guests. Jane and I walked to the Post Office where I mailed my posters home and sent out a few postcards. I wanted to tell my friend that I was about to lose my mind, but put some generalities about weather and the hipsters in Lowell worshiping Kerouac. As we walked back to the B & B, I noticed for the first time the seedy bus depot across the street. We walked over to a convenience store to get a soda and all we saw were failed dreams of life.
The afternoon was quite and we met the hostess and caretaker for our stay. We also met a couple from Jersey who seemed harmless and rather laid back for the East coast life style. We jawed a little, and Jane and I settled on dinner, my compromise again. Once we returned, we took the spooky tour of the haunted house and heard all the legends and tall tales of ghosts and other unexplained happenings of 92 Second Street. Once we were finished, had some coffee and cake, we were left alone to sleep. My horror was just starting to begin.
The night started by my getting ready for bed, and listening to the commands from Jane, like, "We leave the lights on, and the bedroom door open," and "give me some room on the bed, I'm right on the edge!", and further "Did you just pass gas?" So on the night went. I was exhausted from all the other nights I didn't sleep, but as I'd fall asleep, I'd be awakened by the RUDE person next to me who had no consideration for anyone! "YOU'RE SNORING, ROLL OVER!" This was her plan to keep the ghosts away from our room.
The next morning, Jane's insolent behavior continued, treating me as if I were some sort of goddamn helper she could abuse. I told her to cool it and I got the blank stare, as if to say, "You are telling me what to do?". On the trip back to the airport, she drove, and I let her get lost as she refused to follow any maps or directions I had to offer. Her driving was worse with her jerking the car from lane to lane, with disregard for safety or traffic. I was beginning to fantasize about deftly killing her.
I wasn't going to kill her really, but this obnoxious offensive human being I just spent the last five days with made me realize more about myself than anything else. I now know I need to be more discrete about who I choose to vacation with, young woman or not. I know that maturity and stability are the primary reasons for establishing a meaningful relationship. I know that because a person says they are a ‘good person' means nothing until they prove it. So the result was that the internet blind date experience was as awful as could be imagined.
Upon returning to normal life, I made my trek back home, got a bad head cold, and retreated into doing little for the remainder of my vacation. Really just wasting it by looking at the vacation tapes, reading Herbert Hunke, watching TV and playing with the dog. My gross incompetence in going on a blind vacation with someone I hardly knew only points to desperation. The funny thing about it was I only expected to remain friends and enjoy a nice weekend getaway with someone with similar interests. But, it was a test of endurance and patience. My own fault.
I was stunned as I walked into the local library today. I ran into a someone I hadn't seen for a long time. I walked right past him, his wife and daughter. This was a friend who got involved in smoking crack with a crack whore. We chatted for while and he seemed to be trying to turn his life around. His crack whore wife was with him when I saw him, and I would describe her as very worn looking with piercings about her face and a slight girl paunch drooping over her low-rise jeans. Ghosts are everywhere now.
I need to get out in the sunshine, weekend is here, weather is great, I need my family and love them. I follow the sun, I follow the heart, I flee the terror of the night to the arms of the waiting one. I sense I'm slipping away, away into the lostness of the worlds ways... I flee the hatred and violence, we are an evil society, giving nothing and taking everything. Finding thy self in the sea of despair, crooked signs point to nowhere, and death is all around. Figuring out who I look at in the mirror is the hardest part.
Now that I am trying to legitimately date again, I have no interest in working on anything else in my personal life. I still need to do the therapeutic activities that include reading, exercise and house projects. All of this is starting to get woefully unproductive. And today I am so sick I can hardly hold my head up. I look at the world now, and realize there is more than meets the eye, but I've always known this. And being part of that world, you have to be cautious to reveal who you are, for fear of being judged.
I met a few nice people at a party this past weekend. I see what my role is in the 40-something dating world. First, if you are younger than forty, you won't be interested in reading this, but I see the way it plays out with the role I have chosen. My role will be of the ‘second husband' for all the women who have married once, had some kids, and now need a suitable hubby for the last feature of life. Someone to provide the necessary support, understanding, provisions, and over all missing elements of the first marriage.
I'm running out of creative input for my daily word entry here. It must be some sort of block, or because I can't function due to my bad cold. It appears to be a nice day outside. All the trees have begun the change into the autumn show, and all squirrels are foraging for food. Such is life. One day in a life of many other days, which will ultimately end, with me being put in a box and someone stuffing cotton in my ass. Well, I hope it's a long winding road of fun and adventure before that happens.
Home again, with the effects of the cold bug that keeps me up nearly all night, like some dripping faucet, but its just my nose. All night I hear the sounds of cars, people walking by my window, dogs barking, then dead silence. My mind races along, like some cartoon of endless mishaps and slight hallucinations. Everywhere, everyone is trying to ‘get' me. I wake up to turn off the imagination machine of my subconscious mind. It is 2 am, and I need to take medicine. Outside, I see darkness, street light glare, and stillness, nothingness. Then back to bed.
Well another little bonus of my recent hellish trip is that I am now sick with bronchitis and pneumonia and have missed much work. Nearly a whole week. Well, who cares, I guess. I fill my days with television, and reading when I am not hacking or in some throes of a violent coughing attack, taking all my breath. The doctor was rather nonplused at my condition, as he asked me if I smoked. I told him no, and he scribbled something on a script and told me to take these. Dazed and light-headed, I got the drugs and slept.
Yeah, its something of a crap shoot, this dating scene. You roll the dice and hopefully don't lose. I lose almost always though. So to improve my odds I reevaluated my methods, and my purpose for dating. Also, I looked at who I was attracted to. My methods were is disarray. Much of my social skills has deteriorated with the drinking and instant gratification standards of bars. My purpose for dating was vague. Was I out for sex or was I looking for a wife? The purpose changed as I saw fit. And the women I was attracted to? Succubuses.
It is early in the morning on this young new day. I cannot sleep and that is due to the malady that keeps me from doing so. My cable TV has been out for 24 hours. I took it for granted. But, I just sit and cough phlegm, endlessly it seems. I feel like a forgotten man, with no neighbors who care and my dog just wants to play. I found out the wife in the newlyweds next door is into the occult. I guess I am supposed to be impressed. Maybe it'll rain later and I can sleep some.
This is the last day of daylight savings time, and I did nothing more than lie around and look at TV. Some family came over for a little rare visit. We live so close but don't see each other much due to our dysfunctional family relations. My sister was kind of bitchy, Mom was yelling and carrying on with melodramatic emotions, and my nephew sits and looks at it all, thinking we must be nuts. I know as the youngest, he is the far more advanced from the center of the action, which is where our mother drains us all.
Well, back to work and feeling like I slept only an hour, I wandered in and saw nothing had changed. All that was different was the date on the calendar. I was groggy throughout the day and managed to get all my energy focused into meeting the last minute of work with a smile. There was a chill in the air that made you think of ice scraping and impending storms of winter which lie not far ahead. I saw the extent of my house projects and wondered if I would finish at all, if ever. One man's waging war.
I remember the beginning of the month when I was jonsing with anticipation on going to Lowell with Jane. I had built up an image of this woman I thought was respectable. She was physically frumpy, with oversized breasts, a perpetual sneer of disgust that once suppled many sugary soft drinks I suppose. Her general uneasiness with the situation irked me to no end. I felt that at least she could relax and enjoy the fucking trip even though we weren't attracted to each other. I tried, but kept running into the ‘bitch trip' or the ever present indifferent attitude.
I worked pretty hard today and felt it. I managed to crawl home and do some things before I collapsed in bed. I still had a half-chubb though and was on line looking for someone to chat with. I found the lady from the disastrous camping trip mentioned in a previous 100words month. She said she was working and living with her daughter. She is taking better care of herself too. That's what everyone says. She isn't going to say, "Hey Kenfuck, I'm still 100 pounds overweight, won't you come visit?" She did say she bought some anal beads though.
Autumn Green, tell a tale of love and desire. Shake that big moneymaker honey, and let us all see your wares. Tight or not, you got to put the vice grips on somebody's mental health. Sitting in your room naked and thinking. Legs crossed and mind tossed, you ponder the future with a man that you will bear children. Sweet Autumn Green, child in the eyes of everyone. Now that you are a woman, do you have any love left to share? Silent are the days of autumn, in late November, brown and tan with gray sky, sweet Autumn Green.
All Hollow's Eve is tonight. Everyone knows it is the pagan holiday of the year. Dress as your favorite character or invent your own. Be leery of strangers and shadows for you know not what they hide. Under the bed is no place to look. I wonder if serial killers take their children out for tricks or treats. I imagine that most of them don't have any children. Or they look for children to prey upon. Creepy thoughts will invade my dreams tonight as I wonder if anyone cares enough to scare me. But how can you scare a ghost?
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