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judecorpExhausted, but can't sleep. Story of my life. We drove into our neighborhood, and it was recognizable but seemed out of place to me. We were only away a week plus a day or so, and yet things looked funny. Sterile. Flat. Straight. How curious! I saw the familiar neon of Cafe Corner but it felt like we'd been away a much longer time. Fascinating.
I saw a glimpse of an old dear friend tonight. Hi there.
This evening, when we were driving through about the middle of New York state, John Cougar's "Jack and Diane" came on the radio. ADD-me was pressing the "seek" button furiously, station-hopping, but I stopped for that familiar nostalgia and cheese. I've been singing along to this song for so much of my life that I don't know if I ever really stopped to think about what I was saying.
Oh yeah, life goes on long after the thrill of living is gone.
My mind wandered to the truth of that statement, to my inability to hold on to 16 as long as you can. I thought of myself at 28, and of my parents, and of my grandparents. I thought of getting up daily to go to work, to do a job you don't like, to make too little money, to fret too much, to fight too much with loved ones. I panicked. When had the thrill of living gone? How did I let that happen? Was I 16? 21? 26?
Not a moment later, a soft rain started, gracing our windshield. The sky was heavy and dark to the south, but the north, where my head rested against the passenger window, was lighter, more evening, less storm. In the 7:00ish orange light, I could see, actually visibly see, the clouds of mist we were driving through. It floated over the ground, over the trees, seeming to hover just under the growing cloudcover. It sparkled with the reds and purples of early evening, appeared to travel alongside us.
Thank goodness for early evening mist, a road bordering a developing storm, a long ride fit for contemplation. Life goes on, it's true, as certainly as the trek westward, but the thrill of living is still present. And Diane says, "Baby, you ain't missing a thing."
I saw a glimpse of an old dear friend tonight. Hi there.
This evening, when we were driving through about the middle of New York state, John Cougar's "Jack and Diane" came on the radio. ADD-me was pressing the "seek" button furiously, station-hopping, but I stopped for that familiar nostalgia and cheese. I've been singing along to this song for so much of my life that I don't know if I ever really stopped to think about what I was saying.
Oh yeah, life goes on long after the thrill of living is gone.
My mind wandered to the truth of that statement, to my inability to hold on to 16 as long as you can. I thought of myself at 28, and of my parents, and of my grandparents. I thought of getting up daily to go to work, to do a job you don't like, to make too little money, to fret too much, to fight too much with loved ones. I panicked. When had the thrill of living gone? How did I let that happen? Was I 16? 21? 26?
Not a moment later, a soft rain started, gracing our windshield. The sky was heavy and dark to the south, but the north, where my head rested against the passenger window, was lighter, more evening, less storm. In the 7:00ish orange light, I could see, actually visibly see, the clouds of mist we were driving through. It floated over the ground, over the trees, seeming to hover just under the growing cloudcover. It sparkled with the reds and purples of early evening, appeared to travel alongside us.
Thank goodness for early evening mist, a road bordering a developing storm, a long ride fit for contemplation. Life goes on, it's true, as certainly as the trek westward, but the thrill of living is still present. And Diane says, "Baby, you ain't missing a thing."
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Date: 2004-05-09 12:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-09 01:22 pm (UTC)We love your house, btw. Your HOUSE. Because you're homeowners. Because we're frickin' OLD. But we love it. LOVE IT love it LOVE IT.
And we love you. Yea!
no subject
Date: 2004-05-09 09:48 pm (UTC)And old we are. But you know something, I'm OK with that. I once heard "30 is the new 20." And I'm sticking to that.
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Date: 2004-05-11 01:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 01:39 pm (UTC)but anyway, lovely post. :)
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Date: 2004-05-10 07:16 pm (UTC)I can't believe how close all of this is.