I've been living out of a backpack for maybe two years now. Theoretically I've gotta duffel bag, but I forget most of those clothes or leave them behind when I travel, which I do a lot. Last I counted my car said 21,194, but that's not including the miles of plane flights, rides with others, walking, running, and public transpo. I'm probly somewhere around 40,000 + by now. And by the time you read this I'll have gone some more.
This lifestyle isn't unique to me, but it seems I haven't found anybody writing too much about it, so I figured why not step up to the plate and swing a hundred times before I delete my social media stuff and go build a treefort somewhere in Costa Rica. That's a good place to build one of those, I hear. They have monkeys.
Every paragraph might as well be a different country. I've been reading Kerouac recently and his paragraphs can be like different continents so it seems I'm somewhere between the Appalachian mountains and a freight train in terms of style. If that doesn't make sense to you, it shouldn't. If it does, drink more wine. That'll do the trick, bucko.
On a plane yesterday, I realized life doesn't suck. Or more that it sucks as much as it needs to. There's a necessary amount of suckage most places and in most things. I mean, if it were all peach trees and raining avocados all the time 1). A lot more people would be getting run over by cars and 2). Mexico's GDP would shrivel up. I don't know much about GDP, but I do know almost every avocado I see on the east coast in supermarkets and elsewhere comes from Mexico, and further, I know a lotta people who eat avocados. Peach trees was just a filler. I know nothing about peach trees.
So it's okay that life is all over the place (like my brain, like my writing, like everything). I think if life were a constant unchanging ball of happiness someone sooner or later would crack anyway (I dunno about you, but when I smile for more than a few minutes, my face hurts). Moving off. There's something about change that's kinda nice. Whether it's in your pocket or in the weather or stuck between the grates of a gutter and all of a sudden you're some Charlie Bucket winning the powerball and being murdered about it and moving through another phase of existence, it's all kinda nice, I think.
On the plane yesterday, from Ft. Myers to Beantown (that's Boston), I kept thinking I'd be okay if the plane dropped into the ocean for a change. I think there's a couple reasons for that.
Mainly because I was reading a book about soul and zen and the idea of enjoying life as it is and where you are and that life just keeps going like another book you have to read before tomorrow because you've got a test and it's a final and if you don't ace it you fail the class you got into when you signed up to go to college because you thought you'd become a better person when really you just learned to drink more, pay less attention, and question everything including the book you really don't like but your professor doesn't care because it's her book and she's got tenure and even if you write a bad review on your exit exams it doesn't matter because it's like she's some kind of god to the administration and even though her book sucks you still gotta read it and write a 15 page paper about how one sentence or word relates to some other sentence or word when really it's all a load of garbage like everything else you've ever read.
Secondarily because that first book was talking about dreams and I feel like it's been a while since I've woken up and I think maybe a plane landing in the ocean might finally be enough to do it. To be clear, I think all of my writing is garbage too and all of any writing ever is garbage. Lookit all the ways to read something. There must be a million. So just keep reading.
The bottom line, I guess, if there's ever a bottom line, if there's ever a bottom, I hear it's turtles), is that life is pretty clear about not being clear about which sock is on what foot or what time it is or if you're ever gonna mean anything. The short answer is: who cares? When you think about the fact that we're all just floating around on a giant ball of gas somewhere at the intersection of nowhere and everywhere it's hard to get all wound up over anything. All you're gonna do is unwind anyway. And then you'll rewind. And unwind. And rewind and unwind. And then you'll die and your vessel you call a body will feed the earth and you'll go on to somewhere else, to explore and live and unwind and rewind. And soon you'll be an old soul, floating through the ether on your way to Disney World or wherever it is we end up until the universe spits you back out and implodes and explodes and you start living in caves and drawing with sticks and calling others brother and sister. And sitting around the fire telling stories.