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Stream of consciousness
Aug. 13th, 2009 12:05 amIt's after midnight here.
I should be sleeping.
Or perhaps outside watching the meteor shower. I watched for a while last night, brilliant streaks across the sky. One of the good things about living where I do is the lack of light pollution. I can step out into the front yard and stare straight up into the sky and see meteor showers and stars while I listen to the frogs eep out their chorus from the pond across the road. I was thinking last night that someone should write a country song about the meteor shower. Something like, "I Couldn't See The Shooting Stars Through The Tears In My Eyes" or something cheesy like that. I think they would dance to that, here, if it had enough twang and the Budweiser flowed freely enough. In Oklahoma the Budweiser always flows freely enough. Perfect song for dancing to under an August sky with someone you'll leave by autumn's end.
Today was one of those days. You know the kind. The days where, despite your best efforts and the efforts of those around you, you manage one step back for every two forward. Kind of like a two-step, now that I think of it.
I have Important Things to say, but how can one be expected to spill forth Importance on a hot August night? Instead, I shall tell you about the bumper sticker on the back of the white compact car we followed into town. They were stopped at the traffic light by Walmart (one of four in this four light town) and I laughed so hard at their bumper sticker: Nice Car. Too Bad About Your Small Penis. I laughed and read it to Mom, and she laughed, and I wondered if they lived here, or they were just passing through.
Am I just passing through? I tend to always feel that way. No real roots, you know. Navy brat's curse. People ask me where my hometown is, and I gape at them in confusion, because I don't have one. I can tell them where I graduated high school, but that isn't home. I can tell them where I live now, where I'm raising my son so that he will have a hometown and some sort of roots, however sad and stunted they may be, but this isn't my hometown. I have acquaintances here. I have the nod and smilers, the "How's your family?" people, the students from school who remember me as "that cool sub", but if I were to pass from this existence, only a very small number of people in this town would read my obituary in the paper and feel sadness, and the majority of that would be for things I used to do and a person I used to be.
Can I say my hometown is on-line? Eh, truer than anything else. Ya'll are my hometown.
Tomorrow, I will link to Important Things. I will link to the amazing, humbling auction being waged in my name on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rowangolightly's journal, full of some top notch donations of a caliber unlikely to ever be seen again.
I will link to a moving, true essay on health care reform and what it will mean to people like me who haven't had health care for more than half of their lives.
I will link to an incredible artist's page, whose works moved me more deeply than I can say.
I will link to a rant that will clearly show you why I will never be buying books by a certain bigoted author, and why you need to make that decision for yourself, of course.
Tomorrow (for it is really never tomorrow until you sleep, says the veteran insomniac) I will link, but tonight, I shall go out and see if I can catch a glimpse or two of a shooting star, but I assure you the only tears in my eyes will be tears of joy.
Or allergies.
I should be sleeping.
Or perhaps outside watching the meteor shower. I watched for a while last night, brilliant streaks across the sky. One of the good things about living where I do is the lack of light pollution. I can step out into the front yard and stare straight up into the sky and see meteor showers and stars while I listen to the frogs eep out their chorus from the pond across the road. I was thinking last night that someone should write a country song about the meteor shower. Something like, "I Couldn't See The Shooting Stars Through The Tears In My Eyes" or something cheesy like that. I think they would dance to that, here, if it had enough twang and the Budweiser flowed freely enough. In Oklahoma the Budweiser always flows freely enough. Perfect song for dancing to under an August sky with someone you'll leave by autumn's end.
Today was one of those days. You know the kind. The days where, despite your best efforts and the efforts of those around you, you manage one step back for every two forward. Kind of like a two-step, now that I think of it.
I have Important Things to say, but how can one be expected to spill forth Importance on a hot August night? Instead, I shall tell you about the bumper sticker on the back of the white compact car we followed into town. They were stopped at the traffic light by Walmart (one of four in this four light town) and I laughed so hard at their bumper sticker: Nice Car. Too Bad About Your Small Penis. I laughed and read it to Mom, and she laughed, and I wondered if they lived here, or they were just passing through.
Am I just passing through? I tend to always feel that way. No real roots, you know. Navy brat's curse. People ask me where my hometown is, and I gape at them in confusion, because I don't have one. I can tell them where I graduated high school, but that isn't home. I can tell them where I live now, where I'm raising my son so that he will have a hometown and some sort of roots, however sad and stunted they may be, but this isn't my hometown. I have acquaintances here. I have the nod and smilers, the "How's your family?" people, the students from school who remember me as "that cool sub", but if I were to pass from this existence, only a very small number of people in this town would read my obituary in the paper and feel sadness, and the majority of that would be for things I used to do and a person I used to be.
Can I say my hometown is on-line? Eh, truer than anything else. Ya'll are my hometown.
Tomorrow, I will link to Important Things. I will link to the amazing, humbling auction being waged in my name on
rowangolightly's journal, full of some top notch donations of a caliber unlikely to ever be seen again. I will link to a moving, true essay on health care reform and what it will mean to people like me who haven't had health care for more than half of their lives.
I will link to an incredible artist's page, whose works moved me more deeply than I can say.
I will link to a rant that will clearly show you why I will never be buying books by a certain bigoted author, and why you need to make that decision for yourself, of course.
Tomorrow (for it is really never tomorrow until you sleep, says the veteran insomniac) I will link, but tonight, I shall go out and see if I can catch a glimpse or two of a shooting star, but I assure you the only tears in my eyes will be tears of joy.
Or allergies.
