I drove upstate for the weekend to Accord, NY. There it is above, marked by the "A".
I drank beers with the guys. I climbed halfway up a waterfall. I caught bugs in a bug jar and shot a .22 rifle at bottles of Snapple.
It was the first time I had made the trip without referring to a map and I figured it would be just as easy to get back, except it was not. I took one turn that felt unfamiliar and kept going, thinking I could always turn around, that I could stop at some gas station and ask for directions--but the road wound up and down across nameless mountains, with the sun setting behind all those trees. And I was lost and cursing and shouting Avett Brother songs and I remembered something my new boss had told me, since he shares his favorite literary lines with me every time we converse; something about how we always come back, that growing up is a continual regression, that we seek what we had in childhood the further away we get from it.
Verbatim, that quote is not, but the sentiment rang through my head, and I thought about the weekend of freedom, away from the pizzeria, with good friends in a place where little changes--watching water splash over moss-covered rocks, spilling out from somewhere intangible, coming back all over again. So I turned back on my choice and eventually found the thruway, the wide moon resting on the night.
Still without my own computer, I get to experience moments like: Mom trying to change Sex and the City before a sex scene, making a funny face while Miranda gets her sultry on.
