Ride Around

I spent 3 short days in Chicago, drinking and going to restaurants, listening to what David and Dylan said about the restaurant business. Things like the different computer programs they use, they likened the most popular software to Monsanto, a comparison I never could have imagined but I liked the comparison as I thought it over, drinking some cocktail called “The Bees Knees” and seeing the curly haired waitress put my order into the computer, I wondered if anything I was going to eat started as a Monsanto seed.

I had meant to take a bus up to Chicago but, in having lunch with my mother and sister, stopping to buy my sister liquor, I missed my bus. I was excited to go up so I reasoned myself into driving, an activity I thoroughly hate. Why spend six hours with your mind stuck primarily on staying between two lines, on going fast enough to make good time but not so fast you get ticketed, on background music and dangerous texts? There’s a net gain in giving up the freedom of making whatever turns or stops wanted for the freedom to inhabit a small space with a book and a computer, maybe even a wifi connection, and doing whatever you want with that. I like public transportations, to allow some bus driver to whisk you wherever you wish to go and maybe me a strange or interesting stranger on the way. So which method grants greater freedom?

Chicago was good and great. A mixture of Boarding School nostalgia (David was my roommate and inside jokes abound) and the pleasure and scorn of new people. Some woman seemed to hate me just for being there, I repeatedly catch the eye of another girl from two booths over but the eye contact isn’t enough to rouse my from listing old nicknames.

We drink and drink more and talk to their friends who tend bar and find price reductions. We go back to David’s apartment and stay up until there are people running on the track at the East Bank Club and at that point in the night you aren’t even tired, you reason with yourself to go to sleep and try to watch the smoke rising around skyscrapers, hoping that that will somehow make you tired. It had become Friday by that point, though I think the date should change at daylight rather than midnight because that’s what really feels like a day.

We eat at a butcher and watch House of Cards and play video games, repeat the last night, sleep more and wake up with food on all our minds. We have sushi at a wonderful Japanese place called Friends with friendly waitresses and round furniture, off of Dylan’s extensive list of Chicago’s best restaurants (based off of several yelp reviews apiece). Fresh fish and hangovers are an uncommon combination but the cleanliness of the meal gives me a feeling of the same and as we walked the cold air and a single inhale of a cigarette deadened the rest of the pounding in my head. A few more sedentary hours of basking in enjoyable presences and I go to my car, let it thaw and make my way home through a light gray snow, making a stop in Indianapolis to say hello to some of the boys I spent my first (and only) year of college with and one of my best friends. They live with school, beer and Mario kart and it’s a life I very nearly fit in to, if I could have only done my work as I was told to. I still have nostalgia and what if fantasies of how I would have fit into and changed that life. I think even if I got past that first year, I would have inevitably wanted to take off. Even now, after being home for 200 days, I am already struck by wanderlust as if it’s a genetic disease in me.

I got home from Chicago and Indianapolis, slept a few hours, woke up, drove to the airport and eventually found myself in Las Vegas, a queer city with some pretty parts. I doubt I’ve ever drank so much champagne and would be hard pressed to drink so much again. I’m home a week then head to New York.

 

Greetings from another intermediary.

-Maxwell

Intermittent interims

The daydream planning of a possible trip is in many ways more fun than any trip’s reality. It is an exercise in possibility, the way you hope travel can be, but daydreams are infinite and our actions are, sadly and presently, singular. I like to scour websites like workaway and think about what might happen if I spent a month or more living and working with this or that person. I like thinking about all the places you might go when you leave your given place in your hometown to see what else exists. Something about all the possibilities of living with no ties, against the consigned monotony of class and work everyday and a year long lease on an apartment or the commitment of your dorm room or Greek house.  

I am in my apartment now. Note; I am a poor interior decorator. It’s not really something I care about. I have some old paintings and a “don’t tread on me” flag that I’ve put up. I’ve got liquor bottles on various shelves and counters, clothing all over the floors and furniture. I suppose if you have no reason to care about mess and no one to force you into caring for them, well there’s no real reason to do anything about it. I can’t explain why I’ve always found clutter to be so reassuring, it’s as if there’s mystery in mess.

Anyways, a hometown and an apartment, I can’t stay here long. I can never stay anywhere too long, or if I can I never have. I’m called in three directions and held down in none. I’m trying to quit my habit of calling things double-edged swords; there’s good and bad to everything and habit. I have fun going out where I only know a few people but end up talking to many.

I have an itinerary for December that segues to January. I have plans big plans for February through summer, to go and stay in France and Spain through the summer. Now I’ve done one sort of “round the world” trip and I do it all in stages or chapters, I’ll start off visiting friends in the states (I have stories from visiting New York a month ago) and then I’ll buy a ticket out of the country after I’m used to bouncing around and debating beds. I’m going to Chicago on Thursday. I’m going to Las Vegas on Saturday. I’ll be home a few days after Vegas then will go to New York for my third time this year. New York is splendid and wonderful and I couldn’t be more excited for that. I nearly had plans to stay in New York until New Year’s but somehow I’ll be flying to Cincinnati the day after Christmas and flying to Florida the day after that. Oh, the struggle. I suppose it will be nice to see some sun. I want to ride a jet ski over a wave with a crest like a sharp hill. An ephemeral hill. Or intermittent ephemeral ones. A constant influx of ephemeral hills that I totter over at 30 miles per hour. This is how I day dream.

That is my mental preparation. And this is my verbal preparation. I have an internal struggle, a recurring debate with myself over the fact that I have this website-the fact that I enjoy writing about my life much more than I like talking about it. Things are so complicated when you talk but if you can properly lay a story then it’s all linear. I don’t know how much I should write in here or how truthful I should be. I suppose I’ll have to decide as I go, though it could be a lovely thing to share with you, my dear persistent reader, to share all that I go through.  So do stay tuned, or perhaps I can remind you if I decide to write again.

 

 

Greetings at 3 a.m.

-Maxwell