a slow something

Not much done today.

Wake up. Speak with Mindy for a while, we both try diligently to waste time and ignore where the day is going, largely succeeding. There are things to be done. Find a bank. Find new shoes. All of which set aside for an accidental four hour nap. By the time I awoke, nestled again in a comfortable cave of cotton and body heat every last desire to be anywhere at all fled and so instead I stayed in this room, reading and doing nothing at all.

The drive here was intense and long. Everything was the normal desert of Arizona flat and heavy in the distance. Wild brush not moving anywhere and a sky that doesn't change for years. These are all mountains and places I've passed time and time before. The same dreadful numbness of nothing sweeping by. No animals and no life. Just cars and the slowly retreating hills so far away.

I drove North of Quartzite this time and crossed the Colorado River and everything was still mostly the same. I drove across the mojave and out of bakersfield and it is at this point when things really seemed to make any sort of change. The highway snaked around the curves of mountains and blind turns. Fog encroached and visibility jumped down to barely anything at all ahead of me. I drove more slowly and more slowly still and my hands tightened against the wheel and I wished I were somewhere else. I slept in my car in the cold on the side of the road as the occasional car slipped by, someone else with somewhere more important to be. I slept, if fleetingly, and woke up to the last vestiges of fog and crept my way into the pacific coast highway.