Someday I'm going to write a book called "Oh, The Places I've Shit".
I bravely conquered rainy Atlanta traffic at rush hour today. We pulled into the familiar neighborhood of Cravey Drive and visited my uncle, who took us out for an amazing Chinese dinner. Watching his mannerisms and listening to him talk made me feel a little wistful. He's a Dietz as much as I, and it's a rare pleasure that we Dietz's get to share some moments together, face to face, basking in the warped mirror of each other's company. I miss my Ozarks Dietz's. Been thinking about my family all night. I'd like to somehow make it home for Thanksgiving. I've remained aloof for so long, estranged from my family in ways that no one, not even my closest friends, know about. I don't see my isolation ending any time soon, but I need to start working towards taking an active part in my family again, no matter how fucking crazy they are, and how much guilty anxiety they cause me. Birds of a feather, they know me better than I know myself. There's no sense in denying the cosmic strings that tug at all of us alike, and no reason to try to make sense of the tumultuous and taxing lives we all lead, independently and, more importantly, as a whole. Nobody ever said it would be easy, and goddamn if it's not just another river that just don't run straight.
I'll try to make it home for Thanksgiving. My family doesn't expect me to, and I honestly don't expect myself to either.
We're sleeping like princes in my uncle's basement tonight. Thor, the giant German Shepherd, is keeping us company. An off day tomorrow, we're hoping to visit the Coca-Cola factory. Alabama the next day, bringing our total of states visited on this tour to something like twenty-two or twenty-three. Then Nashville, and Memphis on Halloween. It'll feel so good to get home, back to my boys, and back to that sweet little doe-eyed girl who loves me in all the ways I don't deserve. I'll pay for all of my guilt and sins someday. I suppose, now, I should just keep free-falling, appreciating each moment and each soft kiss and on-ramp and warm meal and sloppy punk rock show for what they truly are; the individually unique moment, frozen in time, to be cherished as a world unto itself, dying with a heartbeat and stretching backwards infinitely. The centipede of blessed potential that nips at our heels with the sweet poison of passing time and heartachingly perfect memories.