I'm sitting on the toilet in a house somewhere in the idyllic Maryland countryside. Have I already used "idyllic" to describe the countryside on this trip? I know I've used "serene". Just goes to show how I feel about countrysides.
I finally saw the Brooklyn Bridge, which was even more massive and magnificent than I imagined, and the Statue of Liberty, which looked small and lonely. A beautiful early day in New York City. The view was worth a million words as we left through Staten Island. I won't even attempt. Johnny Thunders on the radio, and then Daydream Nation on the Jersey Turnpike.
Baltimore happened tonight, I guess.
And now rural Maryland. Everyone else is downstairs asleep. I'm the last to lay down, as usual. My brains keep me up all night, in league with my heart's discontent. Always churning, connecting, and spinning. One would think I'd get all my thinking accomplished on the highway, but it's at night, in a stranger's silent house, with no one else awake, that I really get my musing done. It starts in my guts and the top of my skull, meets in the middle, aches in the solar plexus.
The stars are bright, and the air is clear. What a lonely way to live. I think I'll do it forever.