522 Days

Holy mother. 

I had to calculate a few times to make sure that number above was correct. It's been 522 days since I last wrote in (on?) this. 

That's not to say I haven't been writing. It's interesting to note that the decline in writing has correlated with the amount of writing I needed to do for school. I have gotten into the habit of resorting to the phrase "blame grad school" as an explanation for practically anything. Especially as a justification for any decline in consistency - whether that be with friends, family, work, anything. 

I'm tired. I'm so tired that I feel embarrassed for even thinking those other times were times where I thought I felt so tired. I think to myself, "My god! Those other times were nothing to how exhausted I feel right now. Imagine how many things I could have completed by now if I didn't convince myself then that I was so tired?!" But then again, I will probably find myself thinking the same thing about this moment a few months down the line and convince myself then that how tired I feel currently was actually minuscule. I hope not, because I can't imagine how I could ever feel more tired than I do at this moment. 

I think it's a vitamin deficiency. Which isn't too wacky of a self-diagnosis. Now that I've been cleared of some other ailments that I had hypothesized (Rheumatoid Arthritis, Lyme Disease) I think I'm running now with vitamin deficiency as the ailment to resolve. Makes sense given the last few years of fluctuating diet and assortment of conflicting medicine. And hormones. Mother fucking hormones are tearing me apart. 

Because I crave the need to feel validated in the time spent away from particular tasks I am going to make a list of things completed from the last 522 days. This is all very masturbatory, but if that's what I have to do in order to move forward with more general thoughts then so be it. 

• My last entry was April 19, 2013. 
• What's interesting is that was the night I first read for The CCNY MFA Reading Series abiding to their month's theme of "Life After..." After a few weeks of writer's block I was able to easily write a "concise" short story only after I realized the work I was originally comparing myself to (and that was contributing to my self-doubt as a writer) was not from a published genius but actually something that I had written from a few years before. Acknowledging this opened the flood gates and I was able to write The Impersonator, a brief story about cat-sitting in other people's apartments, and I knew, after the draft was done, that I had finally written something that could be read out loud. And I was correct. 
• May 2013: 
• I was asked to join The CCNY MFA Reading Series as a committee member for the next school semester. I felt honored that my excitement to build a community within the MFA realm was noticed. 
• Completed (survived) my first year (second semester) of Grad School. I finished a short one-act play (Ipsa Dixit), translated sections of a Georgian novel and some poetry, and wrote really long, drawn out stories about being a clown in New York City and a day in the Sahara Desert. Not nearly enough content that I thought I'd produce, but it was a good lesson in learning what I needed to work on- craft wise.
• I also dated a lot. I spent the entirety of that academic year meeting a lot of new people through school. I was also nursing (what was to be the beginning-ish of one injury after the next after the next after the next) either some sickness, migraine, or injury. I spent the academic year trying to figure out who it was I wanted to be in New York City and who I wanted to spend my time with. I ended up spending most of my time with some people who were not emotionally conducive for growth. Overall they weren't bad people- we just didn't fit correctly. I'm sure I was just as toxic for them as they were for me. It took months to figure that out. There were a lot of months compact with breakdowns and bad decisions. I was also in denial that I was very much in love with someone who lived 600 miles away from me. No matter who I used as a distraction I couldn't shake the hidden truth that I was waiting for someone else. The boy visited for a brief day and a half.  

• June 2013: 
• I made my first set of hand-made collage coasters. 
• I went to a NYC taping of The Soup and had Joel McHale bend down to my size for a photo (he is tall and I am not). I'm not sure if this is an accomplishment but it's something that happened. 
• I purchased a Groupon for a set of personal training gym sessions because I was finally ready to admit that I do not get much done unless someone is yelling at me to do something. 
• I returned to the Rocky Mountains in Colorado to climb some mountains with Danny.   
  
• I taught ESL for two weeks (for the second summer) to another lovely, yet rowdy, small batch of young Turkish girls. 
• July 2013: 
• The boy came to visit for fourth of July. We explored Coney Island. The visit was inspired from one of our many phone conversations about where the hell this whatever-it-was-at-the-time relationship was leading up to. It would be a long five days, the longest we had spent with one another in a year, and filled with a lot of tiny emotional moments from discussing Christmas plans for 2014 to not knowing if a long distance relationship could ever work out between the two of us. He left and I retreated to Long Island where I saved a turtle from getting run over and I cried for two days straight from heartache. 
• 
• I started a new summer job for the NYC Parks Department as a Playground Associate in TriBeCa, a total bogus job title that basically trickled down to hanging out in a park and playing fetch with 6 year old kids. There were some beautiful insightful exchanges of words between some of the young regulars and myself. They were all pretty spot on about how I was definitely underpaid and how I was probably in love and that I should resolve both of these issues.To be fair, this was the most amount of money I had ever made from any job in my entire life...but that's not saying much.
• I read my short story about the Sahara Desert, Yalla Habibi, for Say What! Productions at Old Man Hustle down in the LES. My friend Terri came all the way down from Boston to hear me read. It was one of my favorite surprises. 
• I cat-sat a lot. I was able to spend most of the summer in other folk's homes while they traveled- providing me with free rent and new scenery. I "lived" briefly in Bath Beach, Cobble Hill, Astoria, Ditmas Park, and Fort Greene.  
• August 2013: 
• Started the second year of Grad School (third semester). I was still confused about who I was. 
• Purchased my first PO box. Somehow this still didn't make me feel validated for squatting in the city, but at least I could easily collect my mail.
• I helped my friend John on some film projects he was working on. 
• I was paid for the first time for a cat-sitting gig. 

• September 2013: 
• Like most tumultuous Septembers- this one was filled with more confusing mistakes, more pining for someone nearby to hold me, more dissatisfaction with the ones who were nearby holding me, a lot of late night walks around NYC, a lot of cat-sitting in Brooklyn, and the heavy question, still, of "When did I become so academic? Did I give up on art? Who am I still? Who am I anymore?"  
• I bought a ticket to South Africa for winter break. I basically told my identity crisis to fuck off. 
• October 2013: 
• This was a time where friendships between good friends were strained and this was heavy on me because functioning happily when people I loved were at odds with one another felt impossible. Somehow I said something that seemed to mend the strained relationships. 
• I traveled for the first time by bus to North Carolina to see the boy. As always it was a sweet and sour mixture of elation and depression. 
• FINALLY I decided to go to my first session at the gym (because it was about to expire from when I bought the deal, four months earlier, in June). I finally felt centered, structured and excited to begin my early mornings right with new people who cared about similar things. 
• I started a brief position as poetry mentor for the Poetry Outreach Center - providing a poetry lesson once a week to a class of 1st graders for six weeks. 
• I also started working as a librarian assistant part-time on an off-campus facility for CCNY. This was also in addition to my current position as an academic probation advisor at another CUNY campus. 
• I successfully made my first grape pie!  
• November 2013:
• I attended the first wedding of a close friend of mine. It was like a strange mini High School reunion.
  
• I spent Thanksgiving in Santa Ana, California with Danny. I officiated his off-beat wedding with Kenny and we spent our time together running a 5k Turkey Trot, exploring mud caves, camping in mountain station huts, and early Christmas celebrating.
  
• December 2013: 
• I returned to New York from California and helped my friend Sean at a table read for a new screenplay he was working on. 
• My estranged grandmother became ill and I drove my brother and mother upstate to Schenectady to handle the logistics.
• I took a bus immediately afterwards to North Carolina to spend the winter solstice and Christmas with the boy.  
• I break the ice and told the boy I loved him. He loved me back. We spent a full week together and explored Raleigh, Chapel Hill, and attempted to climb Grandfather Mountain but it was closed. 
  
• I flew off to Johannesburg, South Africa and spent New Year's Eve alone with a glass of red wine and a mango in a stranger's (soon-to-be friend's) home. 

• January 2014:
• Braai's, braai's, braai's. Camping, camping, camping. With friends and their family.
• Reunited with Bradley (from Georgian days) after three long years. We explored Berlin Falls, Blyde Canyon, St. Lucia, swam in the Indian Ocean, saw all the wildlife, climbed Table Mountain, road tripped throughout South Africa on Rt. 62, Knsyna, Kalk Bay, Robberg Island to track down the seals, Milwood Forest for tannin lake swims, and reunited with Grant. 
  
• Drove and camped through Botswana with Ryan, explored Victoria Falls, survived a hike with baboons, crossed the footbridge bridge into Zimbabwe, wandered down suburban streets in Lusaka, Zambia. 
  
• I flew back to New York and immediately went back to work and began the fourth semester of Grad School. 
• February 2014:
• For the first time ever I had my own health insurance! 
• After a 2 1/2 month hiatus I returned to the gym. 
• Like most trips south, I hopped on a last minute bus to North Carolina for the boy. It was the first time I felt like we were a real couple. We explored Raven Rock State Park. 
• Helped John with filming his movie.
• Took a bus upstate to check in on mother, brother, and grandmother.  
• March 2014:
• Returned from upstate to cat-sit some more in Brooklyn. 
• Turned 28. Surprisingly - did not have my annual identity crisis.
• Did my first 30-day challenge for the gym. Results were skewed due to impending injuries and sicknesses. 
• The boy and I, again, clarified that we were indeed in a real, exclusive relationship. This time it actually felt real and right. Saying the title "boyfriend" or "girlfriend" still took time to adjust to. 
• I injured my wrist, took myself to the ER for the first time to relieve a finger infection, and suffered what felt like a never ending chest cold. MMA/kickboxing training comes to a slow halt. 
• April 2014:
• I caught up with an old boss from the Jim Henson Company. I felt pleased with my life-progress report. 
• I traveled to Bogota, Colombia for a few days to attend a wedding. 
  
• The boy flew to New York, and I managed to find a beautiful home to stay in for Easter in upstate Deposit. 
• My wrist injury turned into a never ending saga of full arm pain. 
• I agreed to help organize my Ten Year High School Reunion taking place in October.
• I was informed that my collection of stories (The Impersonator, Yalla Habibi, The Burrower, MINE: A Bosnian Memory about Strangers, and I Remember That One Time...) is awarded The David Dortort Prize in (Non-Fiction) Creative Writing as well as the Henry Roth Memorial Scholarship (see theme : "immigrant" experience) totaling to the baffling amount of $2300. 
• May 2014:
• I signed on to be President for the CCNY MFA Reading Series for the next academic year.
• I participated in my first mud-run, Mudderella. I fell in love with mud.
  
• I started occupational therapy for my busted up arm (to no avail). 
• I explored Bloomingdales for the first time (I was not impressed) and was converted to the land of moisturizer because...age. 
• I began participating more in paid studies because...money. 
• I purchased my very first plant which turned into two plants (because...love) and I accidentally need them Sally and Harry.
  
• My slight-heart condition from eight years prior was shifted from mild to basically non-existent.
• Completed my first Spartan Race! 
  
• Ended the second year of Graduate School on a better note. I wrote a lot more content due to the constant urging from a dedicated instructor. I wrote a homage to Nora Ephron, and stories about Bosnia, Long Island mental institutions, Egypt, and office life. I also uncovered my affection for Mark Twain. 

• June 2014:
• Gym, occupational therapy, paid studies. Repeated. 
• Drove to Schenectady to check in on the family.
• I wore a bikini for the first time in years down on Fire Island. 
• Engaged in livid arguments with the boy. The struggle of participating in a long-distance relationship proved consistently to be a roller coaster of elation and heartache. 
• I flew one way to North Carolina for 9 days for the boy. Drove to South Carolina, celebrated the Summer Solstice in Wilmington, loved Greensboro, participated in very couple-y things like photo-booth photos and going to movies.
• An annotated version of The Burrower was posted in two parts on the Billfold and I get paid (again) for a story that I wrote!
• July 2014:
• Part II of The Burrower was posted online. 
• Returned to Long Island and visited the Bronx Zoo. I left feeling confused about whether or not I enjoyed it. 
• Hopped back on an (extremely last minute) bus in a torrential rain storm to North Carolina to spend fourth of July with the boy. I arranged for a lovely waterfall hike near Morganton and Durham.
• Explored Mattituck and Greenport (again) on Long Island. 
• Participated in the Lozilu Mud Run!
  
   
• Arranged for the Word-Farm writer's retreat in Poughquag, New York with my friend Brendan, which involved us eating a lot of sweet things, me collecting chicken eggs, sleeping in a hammock, and managing "domestic bliss" (dishes and laundry). 
• Father picked me up in Kingston, New York and we drove straight to Venice, Florida. We detoured a bit in Fayetteville, North Carolina to leave a scavenger hunt for the boy and to find our own treats at South of the Border in Dillon, South Carolina. 
• Reunited with Mark (from Georgian days) after three long years. 
• Embarked on my first cruise with father to Nassau, Bahamas, explored the Everglades, the Keys, and Hemingway. Dove with the dolphins.
  
• After returning father to Long Island I turned around and drove straight back south to North Carolina for the boy.  
• August 2014:
• This was a new record for me and the boy. We were able to see one another three months in a row. We threw one another scavenger hunts. Together, we drove to South Carolina to explore the strange wonders of South of the Border.
• I drove straight back to New York City, arriving on time for the next morning's first day of ESL class (instructing for the third summer). I worked with a wide mixture of Turkish teenage girls.
• I made the decision to quit hormones and start life again as a free-range woman to see if it would help ease my ailments. 
• Construction began on the 2nd floor of the Long Island home (that was uprooted from Sandy). This forced me to go through everything that I had been saving for the last 28 years (and everything else that I put on pause when Sandy hit two years before). I made some interesting discoveries. I began the month-long process of converting the old space into a new writing space.  From this: 
  
• To this: 
  
• Started the third year (fifth semester!) of Grad School. I embraced the art of poetry.

• September 2014:
• Migraines with auras returned throwing everything off-balance again. Both arms decided to stop trying to heal. Pain. A lot of pain. 
• Attempted, once again, to understand the food stamp process so I can feed myself.
• Attended the Slice Literary Conference for the 3rd time on scholarship. This time felt like I was closer to feeling like a real writer. 
• Made more coasters! 
  
• Kicked off the new CCNY MFA Reading Series program. 
• After, yet again, another 3 month hiatus I returned to the gym! 
• I read for Sean's table-read, his collaboration with another playwright.
• Helped Brendan at home on the UWS adjust to non-hospital/broken-leg life. 
• Returned to Schenectady to check in on mother, grandmother, and brother. All three of them at some point this month have suffered some sort of injury or sickness.

And imagine more of the same- a lot of back-and-forth between Long Island, upstate, and New York City. Plus the multitude of doctor visits. 

With the Fall equinox officially underway I accept the end of this summer and allow for my leaves to whither, crunch, move, listen. I'm ready, finally, for a new change. I'm ready for the few moments of consistency again. I'm ready to hopefully not feel so exhausted, if possible. 

As Dreams Are: The Kitten and The Boulder

I am standing in a large room.

No. It is not a room. It is more than that.

A building?

Yes. An entire building.

It is the type of building that has layers.

Floors.

Levels.

It is tall. I can see myself from above and I look incredibly small. I can see the entire building from above. I can look through the walls and examine the space as if it were a blueprint. I feel as if something lives here. The space is massive. It is massive enough for a leader of a nation to call home.  

The walls are sandy. It has an Arizona tint. The atmosphere is a slightly burnt orange. The colors remind me that I should feel hot. 

                                                   But I am neutral. I feel nothing.

The building is a large corporation. Similar to a Walmart or a Costco. It is a large supermarket for your everyday needs. I am one of many; stocking shelves that rise with no end in sight.

The products.

Ceaseless.

There is no ceiling. There are only escalators and they only go up.

I ride an escalator to what I believe is the top floor.  It is time for me to leave. To go home. I don’t remember working very long, but I have the sense that I have just spent a lot of time in this building. I run into my father and step-mother. They have a kitten in their hands.

“We just found it. You must hold onto her and deliver it to your sister. Hide it,” my father says.

They are very eager to pass the kitten down to me. I don’t understand why I must hold onto the kitten since we are going to end up at the same place eventually. We will end up home. 

I agree to take the kitten. I smile as it fits into the palm of my hand. It is silent and small. Black and white. Luckily, I have a large knapsack and she fits perfectly inside.

I walk across a large glass ballroom where all of the cars for the employees are parked. It is an enormous square plot. A giant used car sales lot. I find my car and it looks as if it will be impossible to move.

I am inside, behind the wheel. I throw my knapsack behind me. In mid-throw I remember the kitten, but when I search for her I realize she is gone.

                                                              Did she fall out?

                                                        Hide it. Hide it. Hide it. 

I hear these words. I panic that whomever I am supposed to be protecting the kitten from will find it.

I run across the lot and retrace my steps. I see in the distance a large crowd.

Commotion.

People wearing black shirts.

My kitten must be there. Crowds always gather around a kitten.

Black cats and kittens scatter immediately once I begin sifting through the sea of people. My kitten is not there.

                                                                    Crack

A rumbling from above.

I look up and I understand why I never could see the ceiling before. The roof has been replaced by a mountain. The summit is indistinguishable because it is that high.

                                                                      The Himalayas

                                                                            Everest

                                                                             Nepal

                                                                             Japan

                                                                              Fuji

The base is hazy. Rust and sepia. Wisterias somehow have planted themselves amongst the rocks and grass. They fail to climb to the peak.

A dusty clay-like boulder detaches itself from the hidden tip. It happens so fast and before I know it chaos breaks out. The boulder is rolling quickly. It is suspended in midair. I am not sure where to go. The boulder is on a mission to destroy.

                                                                            People

                                                                           Running

                                                                        Everywhere

The boulder knocks through people.

Squishes.

Rolls flat.

It is a bowling ball and we are the pins.

Strike.

It crushes the vehicles. I watch from afar as it flattens my car.

                                                                            Snap

I never noticed the wires before. The boulder has detached metal wires from their post and they are now whipping throughout the air.

           

A man with sandy brown hair, brown eyes looks at me from across the room. I am reminded again of the recently frightening gaze men seem to penetrate me with in my dreams.

“I have a splitting headache,” he screams at me from across the chaotic crowd.

“I have a splitting headache,” he repeats.

A group of three runs in between us.

It is loud.

It is so very loud.

I think back to the kitten and wonder where it is. 

Is it safe?

Before I can go anywhere or say anything another wire snaps and whips through the sandy brown-haired man. It slices through him. His body falls apart vertically. Into thirds. Evenly spaced pieces. He slinks to the ground. His heart is in pieces but his head is partially intact.

I am standing next to him. His face, from his chin to his eyes, is sliced apart but his brain, his skull cracked open like an eggshell, is still as one. His eyes. Slowly blinking. I watch him breathing.

“I have a splitting headache,” he says once again. His eyes. Never leaving mine. He never stops watching me. He never removes his gaze.

                                                               And now it is quiet.

There are still thousands of people running for escalators and elevators. They are all searching for a place to retreat to. They are all searching for a way to get away from the mountain. Running away from the boulder. Sprinting from the wires. They can’t find a way to lower ground. But it is quiet now. I cannot hear them screaming. I cannot hear them yelling out for lost family.

I think back to the kitten. I think back to when the boulder crushed my car.

If I had never lost the kitten then I would have been inside when the boulder crushed my car.

           

There is no way I would have survived. This realization makes me feel uneasy. I am appreciative for the kitten.

                                                                         Panic 

Just the tiniest change in events could have altered everything. I feel as if I will be stuck forever feeling as the woman who beat death by a second.

                                                  And then everything is different.

I am back at the beginning, but it feels slightly off. I am still me. It occurs to me I am living in an alternative timeline.

I am back at the beginning. I am back stocking the never-ending vertical shelves. I am back with a kitten in my knapsack. I walk to my car in the lot of in-tact, packed-in vehicles. The kitten is in my lap. Before I can start the ignition a spherical shadow is looming behind me. I see the mountain in my rearview mirror. I never noticed I had parked at the base of a 30,000 foot mountain.

I see the boulder. It is heading straight for me.

                                                                        Déjà vu.

This is the timeline where the kitten never left. This is how this short-lived life plays out.

I stare at the kitten and I am angry. I do not understand why my life is so heavily determined on such a small object.

                                                                        Darkness.

I am back at the beginning.  Restart. The kitten has left. The boulder has never reached me. Wires snap, flailing left instead of right. The boulder rolling, careening right instead of left.

“I have a splitting headache,” the man screams out over the hysterical mass. A wire snaps through him horizontally instead of vertically. He falls apart again, still in thirds. His eggshell skull exposes his now barely functioning muscle.

The amount of timelines are endless. I fear that I may never wake up. I am worried it may soon be my turn to fall apart into thirds. I panic for when my splitting headache may be too much. I do not know how to escape this cycle.

                                                                               It is loud

                                                                              The cycle

                                                                              It repeats

                                                                                It ends

                                                                               It begins

                                                                   It repeats all over again

I am angry for thinking about the kitten. I fear that my thoughts have instigated this repetitive sequence. How does it end? How to make it end? I want this dream to end.

But it doesn’t.

And then… everything is hazy.

And then…everything washes out to yellow.

                                                                     And then…it is quiet.

The Adventure of a Lifetime or How We Almost Blew Ourselves Up in Philadelphia, Part One

It is true. I had a blog prior to this one. I had high hopes of writing every day about my hiking adventures, getting discovered by some travel company and then writing some more about my hiking adventures all the while by getting paid for my words and life experience. I believe I made it three entries in- all without any stories about stormy alpine summits on so-and-so mountain. Thank you very much procrastination!

I was in the midst of writing about (at the time) the most recent mountain adventure I undertook when something distracted me. I had hit "save now" and attended to said distraction (a pretty leaf outside, the prospect of making a new cup of tea or hot chocolate perhaps?) and that lasted for three years. I was very excited about retelling this story...mostly because when returning from said trip friends, family, strangers all said "you should write or blog about this! This is a ridiculous story!" when I told them about what had happened during those four days in April of 2009. And so without further ado I shall begin now to tell you about a trip I took once...


         The Adventure of a Lifetime or The Adventure Your Mother Always Warned You About
                                                              or put more simply
                  How We Almost Blew Ourselves Up in Philadelphia

                                                                  PART ONE: 

In Which Google Has Proved to Be Inaccurate and The Discovery of The Real Dobb's Road

Danny, my long-term hiking companion and overall mutual mischief maker, had decided that it had been long overdue on adventure-making. It had been many months in between our last hiking voyage...just long enough for us to forget the torture we had last put ourselves through. It was right after Tax Day and right before Earth Day. We also had just purchased tickets to go backpacking in New Zealand for two months for the following Fall. We wanted to celebrate and add a different region of places-traveled to our list. We needed to celebrate. We were getting tired of the Catskills and the Adirondacks. 

"What about Delaware?" I suggested. 

"Um, I don't think there are any mountains in Delaware..."

"Well, no but there could be something interesting to do there. I mean, who goes to Delaware? It could be fun. There's always fun somewhere. I'll google it."

Nothing. There was absolutely nothing that proved to be eventful in Delaware.

"Are you kidding me? How can there be nothing interesting?!" I was shocked.

"NEXT!"

We looked at a map. 

"Ooh," I said. "How about camping on the beach in North Carolina?"

"Too far."

"What if I drive and never stop? I can do it. I swear."

"Is there time?"

"If I drive and never stop...maybe? We took a few days off. It could work."

"Hmm, maybe."

We googled options for beach camping on the coast. There were too many legal fiascoes and permits to undertake.

"Why is camping on the beach so difficult?!" I exclaimed.

"How about Virginia?"

"Virginia?"

"Let's go to Shenandoah National Park!" Danny zoomed in on the map to Virginia.

"Blue Ridge Mountains?"

"Blue People?"

"No, I think those are in Tennessee?"

"Ozarks?"

"Maybe?"

We researched some of the popular extended hiking trails in the area. We landed on Old Rag Mountain. Danny and I had a terrible way of gauging our hiking capabilities against the quick facts of a trail of a mountain. 

"Oh!" Danny said. "The summit is only 3,291 feet."

"Really? Mount Marcy was 5,344. So how easy is it? How long does it take?"

"It says there is a rock scramble to the top."

"We've done that before. I mean, Mount Marcy was terrible but we've done other hikes since then. We're more prepared now. I think I'm more in shape than last year." 

I wasn't.

"Well, we can climb to the summit and instead of connecting to the fire road back to the car we can just continue. It'll take longer and a few more days," said Danny.

"Oh! That sounds like fun! Let's do that! It'll be good practice for New Zealand."

"Yeah! What time do you want to leave?"

"Google Maps says it should take about 6 1/2 hours. I have work in the morning but we could leave early in the afternoon and still get there before sundown."

"It'll be good to get there when there is still light to set up camp."

"We'll have plenty of time," I said nonchalantly.

****

                                            It was April 16, 2009. Wednesday. Noon.

Danny and I wanted to pack together so we could easily disperse the load, although in hindsight I’m not sure why we just didn’t throw everything in the car immediately and take care of the dispersing at the campsite…but I’m sure we had our “sound” reasons. 

We put off the packing and instead went shopping for food supplies. We purchased the typical normal camping foods: nuts, chocolate, energy bars, hot chocolate mix, tea, macaroni, and oatmeal. 

We packed our bags and collected our gear. 

                                                  It was already after 2 p.m. 

“Great!” Danny said excitedly. “Let’s go!”

“I just have to do one more thing…” 

At the last minute I had remembered carpet cleaners were coming over the weekend and I was given a task to remove anything and everything off from my bedroom floor and onto my bed. Now, this wouldn’t have been a big deal for a normal and organized human being but I had recently (three years+) fallen into the terrible trap of hoarding. I had an embarrassingly large amount of art, animal, travel, political and backpacking magazines that I swore I’d read one day. I had a maze of thousands upon thousands of photographs from the last three years of my own life and the whole photographic journey of my family that I promised to organize and archive. I had at least three guitars, a couple of keyboards and a children’s xylophone as well as some other treasures like a whole aisle’s worth of throw-away books from the local library and board games even the original owner didn’t want any more and handed off to me at a garage sale. In other words…I had a lot of stuff. And my room was not very large. 

I couldn’t just throw all of my ‘precious’ belongings haphazardly onto my bed. There had to be a process. This had to be thought out as an architect would. I had to make this fit correctly. I grabbed some industrial sized garbage bags and organized the magazines by current relevance, the photographs by year so as to not confuse the order I had originally set them aside as before I took my epic organizational hiatus. It took a couple of tries but eventually we managed to fit all non-fragile and delicate material from the last three years on top of my bed. The amount of rubbish almost reached the ceiling.

“Okay! All done! Let’s go!” I chirped.

                                                         It was approaching 5 p.m. 

Danny was not smiling. “Crystal, it’s 5 o’clock!”

“Which means we’ll bypass the traffic by going West!”

“It’s going to get dark soon.”

“We can set up camp in the dark. We have flashlights.”

He groaned. “Okay, okay. Let’s go. I’ll drive first. You're a mess driving through the city.”

"Not going to argue that."

We hopped in the car. We were welcomed with traffic. I attempted to play up the charm-factor as a way to apologize to Danny for taking so long with getting onto the road. I had made a new batch of specialized mix CD’s for our journey.   

"I HAVE NEW MIX CD'S!" I screamed. "I THINK YOU WILL REALLY ENJOY THEM!" I cautiously stole a glance at Danny to see if he expressed any interest in listening to the CD's I spent hours crafting. 

 "They're themed!" I said proudly. As if it took a genius to figure out how to pick specialized songs related to highways or road trips and burn them to a disk. I recited the CD titles hoping they would put a smile on his face.

"Okay! We have the "Life is a Highway/Riding in My Car: TO VIRGINIA FROM NEW YORK mix CD," the "Take Me Home Country Road! The Highway Mix" and the "The Greatest American Idol Mix! Virginia Mix-Down! (Adam Lambert Forever) (YOU ARE THE AMERICAN IDOL)"

"Ooh. Let's listen to the American Idol one."

"I thought you'd pick that one first."

After an hour of screaming along to ridiculous renditions of various Michael Jackson tunes we popped in the "Riding in my Car" mix which consisted of random mp3's (thanks internet!) that involved the words "highway," "road" or "car." Needless to say there were quite a few gems. The first track however was not "underground" by any means but as hokey as it could ever be on a road trip. Tom Cochrane's "Life is a Highway." An obvious choice.

"You know I hate this song, right?"

"You do?!"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It reminds me of when I was abroad with Contiki. They played it on the bus every morning and every evening."

"...oh. I'm sorry..."

"I CAN'T STAND THIS SONG! NEXT TRACK. NEXT. TRACK!"

Some of the songs on my mix CD weren't even songs I particularly enjoyed but I really enjoyed the time I spent in finding these songs. 

• Ride in my Car by The Woodsmen
• Crossroads by Texas Lewis Slim
• Riding in Your Car by Elephant Parade
• Get in the Car & Drive by Blu Sanders
• In the Car by Dealership
• Hit the Road Jack by Texas Lewis Slim
• In My Car by The Pack (quite possibly the greatest find of 2009: see above video)
• Lost in My Car by The Farmers
• Standing in the Death Car by Standing
• Jump in My Car by Slow Motion
• Always Crashing in the Same Car by David Bowie
• Jump in My Car by IEACIA
• In Your Car by Ian Mykel
• You and Me in a Rented Car, Two Small Bags and a Plastic Guitar by Utah Rangers
• Sleeping in My Car by Roxette
• Captain Abu Raed, in the Fog by Austin Wintory
• In the Death Car by Iggy Pop (All 17.23 minutes...did not go over well...) 

When it comes to pleasing an on-the-fence driver I found that effort or symbolism does not mean as much as it does to the creator. Drivers just want and need interesting songs in order to better pass the time. More importantly they require songs they know so they can sing along.

The next mix CD consisted of seven different versions of "Take me Home, Country Roads" originally by John Denver. Everything from robotic, dance, reggae, punk, electronic and so on...I tracked it down and I had it. All. If Danny didn't know the song before he was sure as heck going to know it now. Mountain Mama all right.

                                                  It was approaching 10 p.m. 

We stopped at a rest-stop in Maryland to find some food. Inside there was a closed Welcome Center, a Quiznos, a Starbucks, Burger King, and a 'High-End' food-mart. 

"I think the only food you're going to find is at Quiznos," I said to Danny. "They have a Veggie Sandwich." 

We approached the balding middle-aged man behind the Quiznos counter. He pointed to the left side of the counter where there were three options. 

"Your options for this evening are those three,"  he said to us.

Option One: The Meat Sandwich

Option Two: The Italian Meat Sandwich

Option Three: The 'low-carb' Meat Sandwich

"Are you saying we can only order from those three options?" Danny asked.

Quiznos man just pointed to the left of the counter and yawned. 

"So, does that mean we can't order the Veggie Sandwich on the right?"

"No Veggie! ONLY from the left."

"But could you just make a sandwich of vegetables? I can't eat meat."

"It's too late," he pointed again to the left. "Your options..."

"Can I order the meat sandwich without the meat and substitute vegetables instead?"

"No."

"Really?!"

"Yes."

We backed away slowly from the counter and wandered into the 'High-End' food mart and opted for packaged fruit and cheese cubes for dinner instead. Above the double-door exit of the rest-stop two signs hung. On the right side a sign read "South-Virginia" and on the left "North to DC." I pushed Danny quickly from the left side over to the right, shoving him into the wall. 

"What is wrong with you!"

"You almost walked through the wrong side!"

"What?!"

I pointed to the signs above the door. He laughed. 

"You're fucking crazy."

"THERE'S A REASON THAT SIGN IS THERE," I yelled out after him. 

Danny had left the car lights running. I relieved him of his diligent driving duties and we carried on our way. When we approached Virginia and sidelined off from the main highway to the 'country/county' roads we noticed subtle differences in how Virginia and Long Island handle their informative road signs. Put simply: Long Island seems to have a street sign everywhere you look whereas Virginia had none. 

"Are you sure this is 231?" I asked Danny.

"It should be."

"What's the next step?"

"Right on 707. Sharp Rock Road."

"SHARP ROCK ROAD?"

"That's the name."

"Oh, jeez. When?"

"Less than a mile."

The small four lane road was deserted except for the occasional gas station. The only other source of light on the road came from the red stop light every mile and a half or so. Occasionally a street sign would pop up but it only would list the cross street never indicating what street we were actually driving on.

"How can they not have a sign saying what street this is?" I grumbled. "I guess they figured if you got yourself here you should know the area and the street names."

"I think it's been over a mile..."

"But I didn't see the turn. Should I turn around?"

"Let's go a little further and then we can turn around."

We drove a bit further and there was never any turn off for 707. We turned around and luckily spotted the hidden street sign for our turn off.

                                                            It was past Midnight.

"We found it!" we cheered.

"Now what?" I asked Danny.

"Okay! Now we need State Road 600 and then Weakly Hollow Road."

"Easy enough."

We drove onwards onto the paved road. It winded deep into the dark woods and around quiet little farm houses. The road quickly turned into a restricted one way dirt path.

"Where are we?!" Danny laughed.

"Should I keep going?"

"Where else are we going to go?!"

We turned off the music and followed the road into the dark. It was quiet.

"This is Dobb's Road." That was always Danny's way of saying 'This is a road where serial killers live and attack their victims.'

"Oh hush," I laughed. "This ain't no Dobb's Road. Look I see a turn up ahead."

We drove and I turned. The road carried on in either direction but a large wooden sign was posted off to the right. 

"What the..." 

I pulled over and read the sign.

"You've got to be kidding me," Danny said.

I grabbed my flashlight, opened my car door and stepped outside. It was approaching at most 35 degrees Fahrenheit. I could see my laughter as water vapor in the air.

"I am not leaving this car," Danny poked his head out of the window.

"Seriously?"

"Yes. DOBB'S. ROAD, CRYSTAL" Danny screamed. "I told you this was Dobb's Road."

                                                             "This is a trap set by the man who owns Dobb's Road!"