I'm sitting in a towncar right now driving through the dawn-lit empty streets of Pasadena towards highway 110, which will trek through the flows and turns of the Arroyo Seco highway, along beneath the highrises of downtown, across the expanding valleys of rooftops towards the great air port we all know of as LAX. It's been somewhat of a mad dash for the past 24 hours, trying to get my life (or AKA the collection of imagined realities I flounder in from day to day) together or in some order enough to leave it all behind without a thought or backwards glance. Which I think is exactly what I just did. Stepping into this towncar and sitting down, closing the metal clink of the doors together I had this rush of relaxation wash through me, a sort of cleansing for every piece of thing I had been controlling up until this point, where once I'd turned my body over to the black sleekness, to the man (the driver) behind the wheel I realized in that moment next to my house that I had no other choice but to relax. If I'd left something behind, forgotten my toothrush, packed incorrectly, didn't take care of some outstanding problem well so be it.. because I'm officially taken away in a black horse, there is no turning back. Maybe this happens every day, but I'm always in control and rolling solo. This time leaving my house, I've got 6 days of new stuff before I have to get off the river. And so step I into the Lincoln, shove off and float swiftly away from the shore and towards a semi-familiar horizon with only the skills I've brought with me to use. Now I can relax for the first time in months. For a second that's really nice.
Let's just hope my dinner clothes are nice enough :-)
See you in Florida
Mikie
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