Writing on the Road

No, seriously. I'm writing with I-95 zipping beneath me. With earphones in, I'm writing to you all with Washington, D.C. whizzing past my open window.

I think I've fallen in love with my job. Let's be honest, the Super 8 was not providing the adventure I expected. But now, I can feel the adventure. I can feel the freedom of what I'm doing. I am so thrilled to feel good.

Oh, I drove the RV today. For a long while, I steered our home from Williamsburg to a Flying J near D.C. Not too shabby, I don't think. We dumped our tank, which is not fun but feels like a fair trade.

Currently, I'm looking out the window to see a very industrial scene. It all looks new, you know? Well, new to me. I think that is why I'm feeling so excited, this is all so new. I promise you, things look different. Snap! I'm now on a drawbridge. This is rich. I'm not. But, this is.

Washington Monument out my left window. And, I feel good.


I may be a local

Tonight, I was reading Women in Love by D.H. Lawrence at a coffee shop in Colonial Williamsburg. I sat outside to read/people watch. A large group of teenage girls approached with two adults. Immediately, I saw my delightful time with a cappuccino and a stellar book exchanged for constant chatter and smack talk. Unfortunately, I think I have a prejudice against teenage girls as I find them the most irritating of all social groups.

Anyway, the two adults asked me if I was a local. I hesitated and said, "Well, yeah, I guess." I think this made me look dumb. They then asked me for some recommendations about food. I gave them five. Five. I've been two five restaurants in town. I'm able to give decent recommendations. I can't imagine being a local in any city other than my home. This makes me think, "how does home change?" or "does home ever change?"

Granted, I'll be leaving Williamsburg in a week, so this question isn't all that pertinent. But, right now, home is where my parents are. Am I adult if home is where my parents are? I don't know about that and I guess I don't really care because my parents rock.

So, thoughts of home. Not surprised that issues of home are in my mind since I live on a Super 8/RV.

On Saturday night, I was all by myself. I said, "Bump this, I'm going out." And so, I got dressed up (put on jeans) and went out to a swank French restaurant in Colonial Williamsburg. I ordered myself a bowl of French onion soup and considered myself a young professional, if for only one night. It was a nice night. Being alone doesn't always feel lonely, you know?


Slowly sinking into this life

I've been here for a while now. Long enough for me to identify as "the guy who lives in the Super 8".

A lot of things have happened recently. I learned to drive the RV. It isn't anywhere near as difficult as you'd think. But, hitting cones feels a little less serious than hitting people, so maybe I have a distorted impression. Luckily, the training made me feel much more comfortable driving the RV. This is good as driving will be a large part of my life in the coming months.

I was lucky enough to be paid a visit by my fantastic girlfriend this past weekend. We sang Karaoke (Born to Run), made a big mistake (Irish Coffee means whiskey), met a celebrity (Miss Czech Society of America), were really hot (Colonial Williamsburg), and flew through the sky with a big girl in a bikini top (Busch Gardens). It was a wonderful to feel connected again. I think you know yourself more when you're with someone who knows you. Right?

I miss everything back home. I miss sitting in class. I miss Krannert and chatting with so many great people. I miss talent shows. I miss seeing people fall. I miss fruit in the Dining Hall. I miss driving stretch. I miss lame Berry weekends that really weren't lame at all. I miss a lot of things.

I'm watching a lot of the Office. Pam and Jim are close friends now.