My reintegration into society has so far gone poorly. I am cold all the time now, trapped in the godforsaken midwest again, nothing alive inside to keep me warm. This is the land of the sun-eater, that huge and horrible beast who drags his knuckles across the frozen ground, sending flakes of his dead skin into the wind-whipped and colorless sky. This hunchbacked monster, meridian stalker, collector of suffering and swallower of birdsong, he who gathers your happiness into his sack slung low and sinks it in the cold, dark waters of these, our land of 10,000 lakes.
Actually, I’m exaggerating. It hasn’t been all that bad. After driving 500 miles one day and 900 the next in what was a record amount of mileage for me (an unenviable record, I assure you), with a quick stop in Sioux Falls to get into an unprovoked political argument with my father that left us both, rash actors, exasperated and no better off, I finished out the final 200+ miles to Minneapolis in a fit, late at night on the heels of the first day of spring.
What can be said of the endless battle with our parents, who live so large in our psyche forever, whether they were present or absent, for good or for ill? Sometimes nothing can be said. Nothing should be said.
I am reminded of that relatable moment in Star Wars: The Force Awakens, where what’s his face—son of Han Solo (Harrison Ford) and Princess Leia (Carrie Fisher)—pulls a fast one on his dad, Han, and runs him through with a lightsaber, dropping his lifeless body into an abyss and freeing himself of his inner conflict. And I think, “I get that.” Sometimes it’s hard to like the ones you love and in any case life is a glacier that grinds on.
It’s hard, too, even a week after I’ve arrived home, to remember that the time I see on my computer or phone is the time that my work colleagues and friends in Minnesota are on, because, of course, I’m here now, whereas for 10+ weeks I’d adjusted for being two hours behind this land of the future.
Here in the future I used a microwave for the first time in 10 weeks, backed away from it to my perimeter of safety as it did its science magic on a can of some barely foodstuff; maybe it was canned lasagne, enough additives to survive the coming apocalypse.
Waiting at home for me were bills, unopened mail that said nothing, prescription refills and the dentist, laundry machines that called my name as they shook and groaned, and a general malaise, a dissatisfaction. I tried the key to my camper on my house twice before I removed it from the key chain.
But if I close my eyes I can still see California, the sand and the waves, a great artist’s palette of pebbles awaiting the brush of the ocean, the hand of some boy, one who can imagine a frame to set it all within.
And I’ve traveled enough to know that spring is probably fucking around in southern Iowa right now, creeping north by day and night, her footsteps light as air upon the land, a soft breeze through the window as you wake in the morning alone or with your lover.
Update: Well, that’s my trip summary. Lol. You can probably tell I’ve had a bit of a rough week, but I’m really picking up steam now and putting vigor and vim into expanding my horizons and community. New, local adventures are being planned.
My writings here will now return to the perpetually ridiculous.
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