I'm almost off break. I'm almost done appreciating the weather. It's clean. Or I think it is.
Assumed reality, and all that.
Oregon is nice and clean, but I don't want it. It's gloomy, Especially in January, it's grey, it's quiet. I can't get a handle on it.
There are great people here that I can't appreciate. Or won't.
I walked to my personal (hardly, I just pretend I'm the only person that frequents my steps) lookout to the Columbia and sang a song by Weezer that was on the radio.
In that moment, I wanted to be baptized in the river, alone. A hooded figure wading in the water. I could have swam with an otter. I started yelling about the clouds and the microbrews and the environmentalism and The Darkness
Charlie Murphy!
I figured out then that I didn't want Oregon because Oregon is real. Real people live here. I don't want that. I still want to be surprised at the end of the movie.
Give me fiction!
I want to live literature.
I walked back to my car. My car. It won't be mine tomorrow. Yep, my car, my little car is shipping off to fight the good war in Dresden. I walked back and a wolf kept parallel pace with me. She was young, but more importantly. She was an effing wolf.
I didn't mean to call you that late. I'm sorry.
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