It's noon on Sunday. I've had a cold for a week and I think now it's turned in to pink eye. I spent about three days visiting three households of relatives (probably infecting them all in the process), keeping my mouth shut and successfully avoiding gluttony. I came back to an apartment with a full litterbox and empty fridge, both of which have now been remedied, and no matter how much laundry there is in the other room I can't seem to pull myself off the couch. Despite the illness I actually want to go to work tomorrow, but probably shouldn't. It's finally gotten above thirty degrees, but Pennsylvania is in full dreary grey mode, and will stay that way till April.
Could there be any more reasons to feel restless?
About seven years ago, I got into a very minor car accident. ( I think I've written about this before, so I apologize...) Despite the huge dent in the car it was driveable, so the insurance money went in to a road trip to Colorado and Oregon with a poor choice of a boyfriend. (The trip, however, was not a poor choice). On $1500 and his barely legal income, we managed to stay with friends and on the road for two months. Sure, it could have been planned a little better, but who plans for these things at that age?
(That was way too long ago; I really need it again.)
So, sitting on the couch, in dreary PA, with the second winter cold and the radiators blasting, I can't help thinking about a long, long drive alone. I have this feeling like I will always be bored, always want some other stimulation, some new people, some diffferent landscapes...no matter how much comfort can be had from these surroundings, there needs to be more.
Sometimes that more makes everything old new again.
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