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darklunaThe thing about driving from Tennessee to Boston is this: it takes a really, really, fucking long time. Long enough to need three tanks of gas. Long enough to listen to Secaucus 16 times, if you're so inclined. The trip was exactly the right length, though. I was very happy to get to Boston, and very happy to get home. ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hissilliness laughed at me when I first arrived because I kept saying "I'm so happy!"
30some hours of driving are not very exciting to do and not very exciting to read about. The most interesting things were these:
- The Lady of a Certain Age in northern Tennessee who laughed out loud at my "Help the Environment: Send a Bush Back to Texas" bumper sticker and told me she approved.
- The SUV of (presumably) Ren faire geeks, one of whom stuck his head out the window in full plate armor to wave as they passed me.
- The folks from Oregon who slowed way down to let me get in front of them in the passing lane, then waved and grinned as they sped off once we were both past the 18-wheeler. Cascadia forever!
***
I went out to dinner with a bunch of friends from my fraternity, and it was really fun. We had yummy, yummy Indian food. Then we went book-shopping and ice-cream-eating. No one is getting any older.
***
On Saturday I went out to Revere Beach and walked along the edge of the ocean for a while. It smelled wonderful. I can't believe it, but it had been 7 years since I'd been in the Atlantic Ocean. All the birds were sitting in the sand with their heads tucked under their wings like puffy little pillow birds. I could see the row of houses where I used to live, and the quasi-semi-island where I once ran my husband's car over a rock while trying to find a pretty Victorian house to show my mom. (Not just a rock. A ROCK. The car had to be towed.)
I got lunch from Kelly's. I don't know if I ever managed to eat there when I actually lived in Revere. Their idea of a medium serving of fries is insane. It was like 10 potatoes' worth.
***
And now, it is the time when we squee, for truly the Wrens are 32 flavors of awesome.
Kevin! In a fancy white shirt instead that black one he always wears! OMG! SO! PRETTY!
And Charles! Singing along at a good clip, stumbling slightly, breaking out of the real lyrics for a sec to sing instead, "Fuck, we're playing this fast!" HEE!
</squee>
They are, of course, playing in Atlanta this weekend. D'OH. I found this out the day before I left for Boston. Now I'm trying to decide if I can be arsed to go down there, because I also found out about a Kentucky show a long ways back, and bought tickets for that one too, in the erroneous belief that they weren't playing any closer to me. I would hate to get tired of them, but I got in my car to leave Boston and said to myself, "I think I've listened to the Wrens enough for now."
***
I think I experienced a stunning change of consciousness. I don't know if Seb did it, or if he just happened to be there when all the things I'd been pondering fell into place in my mind, but the end result was that by the end of the night I was no longer especially interested in wanting people I am likely not ever to have.
***
I wrote in my paper journal on the way home: Why do I smell pancakes? Is it me? Do I smell like pancakes?
Eventually realized that with the sun warming up my vanilla-and-cinnamon-scented arms, I probably did. When I got home I made my dad go out to dinner at Cracker Barrel so I could satisfy the craving for pancakes that smelling my perfume all day had made me develop.
***
Since I've been back, I feel better about Chattanooga. It's partly because home is where the cats are and I missed them. But I also think that because it was the goal at the end of the very long road, my synapses realigned a bit to help me think it was a place worth getting to.
There's more to tell, but I need to go to my folks' place and make a pie crust. My mom and I both believe the talent skips a generation, which has the effect of making me think I have the knack for it, and making her think she hasn't.
hissilliness laughed at me when I first arrived because I kept saying "I'm so happy!"30some hours of driving are not very exciting to do and not very exciting to read about. The most interesting things were these:
- The Lady of a Certain Age in northern Tennessee who laughed out loud at my "Help the Environment: Send a Bush Back to Texas" bumper sticker and told me she approved.
- The SUV of (presumably) Ren faire geeks, one of whom stuck his head out the window in full plate armor to wave as they passed me.
- The folks from Oregon who slowed way down to let me get in front of them in the passing lane, then waved and grinned as they sped off once we were both past the 18-wheeler. Cascadia forever!
***
I went out to dinner with a bunch of friends from my fraternity, and it was really fun. We had yummy, yummy Indian food. Then we went book-shopping and ice-cream-eating. No one is getting any older.
***
On Saturday I went out to Revere Beach and walked along the edge of the ocean for a while. It smelled wonderful. I can't believe it, but it had been 7 years since I'd been in the Atlantic Ocean. All the birds were sitting in the sand with their heads tucked under their wings like puffy little pillow birds. I could see the row of houses where I used to live, and the quasi-semi-island where I once ran my husband's car over a rock while trying to find a pretty Victorian house to show my mom. (Not just a rock. A ROCK. The car had to be towed.)
I got lunch from Kelly's. I don't know if I ever managed to eat there when I actually lived in Revere. Their idea of a medium serving of fries is insane. It was like 10 potatoes' worth.
***
And now, it is the time when we squee, for truly the Wrens are 32 flavors of awesome.
Kevin! In a fancy white shirt instead that black one he always wears! OMG! SO! PRETTY!
And Charles! Singing along at a good clip, stumbling slightly, breaking out of the real lyrics for a sec to sing instead, "Fuck, we're playing this fast!" HEE!
</squee>
They are, of course, playing in Atlanta this weekend. D'OH. I found this out the day before I left for Boston. Now I'm trying to decide if I can be arsed to go down there, because I also found out about a Kentucky show a long ways back, and bought tickets for that one too, in the erroneous belief that they weren't playing any closer to me. I would hate to get tired of them, but I got in my car to leave Boston and said to myself, "I think I've listened to the Wrens enough for now."
***
I think I experienced a stunning change of consciousness. I don't know if Seb did it, or if he just happened to be there when all the things I'd been pondering fell into place in my mind, but the end result was that by the end of the night I was no longer especially interested in wanting people I am likely not ever to have.
***
I wrote in my paper journal on the way home: Why do I smell pancakes? Is it me? Do I smell like pancakes?
Eventually realized that with the sun warming up my vanilla-and-cinnamon-scented arms, I probably did. When I got home I made my dad go out to dinner at Cracker Barrel so I could satisfy the craving for pancakes that smelling my perfume all day had made me develop.
***
Since I've been back, I feel better about Chattanooga. It's partly because home is where the cats are and I missed them. But I also think that because it was the goal at the end of the very long road, my synapses realigned a bit to help me think it was a place worth getting to.
There's more to tell, but I need to go to my folks' place and make a pie crust. My mom and I both believe the talent skips a generation, which has the effect of making me think I have the knack for it, and making her think she hasn't.
