Luxuriating in the intellectual bliss that is National Poetry Month, and in particular thrilling at my ability to have featured 13 different poets so far (how long can I keep that up? Do I really have such an endless variety of poetry at my fingertips? Only time will tell.), I have nonetheless felt the strain that comes from blogging nothing of my personal creation. As much as I love poetry (and by now that is clear, yes?), it can't take the place of getting this stuff out of my head. I'd thought to continue the Oklahoma trip series, but honestly, what more is there to say? I could, and probably will, post more pictures, and I could tell about The Old Man In The Bookstore and Bob at Cookies 'n Cards. But really, most of that trip took place inside my head rather than out, where the stories that can be told are made. Since I've been back here, there hasn't been much to write about, either. Work (same); friends (same, awesome, private); swirling Duck problems/issues/hassles, some of my own creation and some that just seem to arise out of nowhere, or they periodically pop back into view and over which I feel very little control (maybe this year will be...better than the last?); family (Mom & Dad visited earlier this week, and brought surprising, bad, weird news from home).
I haven't even had any exciting car incidents lately. I came close last Saturday when The Cat and I met in a 'burb for an afternoon of rampant consumerism/obnoxious giggling/unintentional finger-foods. I set out with the car on "E", planning to buy gas before leaving town. I sort of left later than I should've, so--cinnamon toast on a paper plate on the passenger seat and Coke in the holder--I just kept going. Thought briefly of stopping in the next town north, but...nah. The gas light turned on in B--, which is a little less than halfway to the mall where we were meeting. I knew that I had around one gallon (3.79 l) in the tank at that point, so there was no reason I should run out. However, there was an ungodly amount of traffic, and it was moving slowly, and I will admit to some nervousness before I arrived. And I did arrive, only 6 minutes late (she called right on the dot to make sure of where we were meeting, or was it to check up on me?). I told her of my dearth of fuel so she would help me remember to get some before leaving the 'burb.
Well, I did. Leave the 'burb. Without buying gas. Because there isn't a gas station between the mall and the open road, and I don't know the rest of the town well enough to just wander with no gas. So I kept going, watching the gas gauge the whole time. There is one intersection, at state highway and big Road, where I was in a near-panic. It is a hill by any standards, not just the flatlanders', and I was the third or fourth car back. So I was hanging upside-down. And I was thinking that I don't really know the physics of my gas tank, whether it is more flat or smaller-around, so I didn't know how it would be affected by my position. I thought about turning off the car (seriously, it's a long fucking light!) but really didn't know if the car would then even start in that position, and I'm such a pathetic driver on hills that I knew I'd roll back and crush the...oh, fuck, state trooper behind me. I was literally praying aloud for the fucking light to change. Admittedly not the most likely of prayers, but it worked, and off we went. I gave it a little too much gas (surprised, anyone? anyone?) but Mr. Trooper didn't seem to mind. About 10 miles (16.09 km), no, 5 miles (8.05 km) later I came upon a gas station--sweet! And at only $.10 more per gallon than I would have spent at home, if I wasn't a complete moron who can't leave on time, ever! Get this, though: I paid more than $32 for my tank of gas. For my Civic. That's fucking nuts. The good part about it was that I got over 38 mpg on that last tank, and that I hadn't bought gas since the first week of February. The scary part? I had 426 miles on the tank when I fueled up. Roughly translated, that means I'm fucking dumb.
I seem to have some nutritional issues today. Breakfast = 2 bowls Frosted Mini Wheats. Midmorning "snack" = two maple-frosted long-johns from the hometown bakery (thoughtfully [?] provided by Mom & Dad). Not just one, which would have enough calories to power a sled dog through the Iditarod, but two. [And throughout the day, Republic of Tea Ginger Peach tea, hot.] Dinner, you ask? Ah, that's the best part: homemade (or, as Heidi and Stacey might like, 'Ho-made) cheese+garlic biscuits. With butter. And a Coke. I would have a vegetable, but what's the point, today?
It is time for me to lever myself off this fucking chair (it's from Ikea, you know, and I HATE Ikea) and drag my sorry self to Target for one of those regrettable stock-up trips where you can't quite figure how you spent $100...but it seems inevitable. And then to the grocery store for milk and...a banana? Something vaguely healthish, anyway. And then, given my state of mind, a "short" drive around town that will wind up being crazy-long (and stupid-fast), and which will end at the carwash because my formerly black car is just plain dust-colored right now.
Once home, I will watch The Constant Gardener, borrowed a week ago from 'The Public Library of the Giant Rodent,' to which (to whom?) I do not want to be accountable. I'm so not in the mood for a thinky movie, but needs must and all that. (What the hell does "needs must" mean, anyway? I've been saying that since God was a boy, and it suddenly strikes me that I've no clue what I'm saying.) And I will contemplate the ramifications of posting my own poetry here sometime this month. Seems pretty scary. Promise you won't laugh?
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