Travel used to exhilarate me, now it is coming home that brings the thrill. Oh, to travel is still a blessing. Travel is a chance to hold thoughts and ideas, preconceptions and notions, up to those of others, declare the others’ to be wrong, and then get the hell back home.
I have barricaded myself in for the day, and unsuspecting visitors are likely to be met with a predictably hostile response. The sky is gray, the air is cool, and my legs feel as fresh as two loaves, straight from the oven. Two gigantic, steel-cored, pedal-crushing loaves-straight from the oven. All I need is a cup of this chicory blend coffee, a bowl of grits, a few more hours of sleep and I should be back to normal, and awake in time for the Monday throwdown.
When I got home last night, my friends-all grown men-were settling in as usual for an evening of rolling dice and deciding the fates of their imaginary elves, I mean selves. I was all but trampled during the elaborate preamble of assigned seating, pizza ordering, and refrigerator real estate jockeying. I slunk back to my cave and rolled the rock over the opening. I will deal with them later.
Today is a brand new day, and it is good to be home.
Don’t forget, January 14, www.sanfelasco.net
I am all signed up, as is Pa Ingalls. The ride is limited to 400, and expected to fill up fast.
I can’t seem to resist the urge to type, Git ‘r done!
Welcome home, Caveman. Or Captain Caveman, if we’re being formal.
Formal please, I’m wearing my new boxers to work today.