This busy mind shouldn’t surprise me. I tried to read some poetry this morning and instead thought about where I would go today – Barton Springs, downtown, South Congress…? Two nights ago someone told me to check out SoCo (South Congress). I’ve since been told not to call it SoCo. I’ll sound like a douche if I do.
I’ve been thinking about when I might get around to doing laundry next. It feels too warm to walk around in jeans or long sleeves. A lot of my t-shirts are dirty and if it’s hot they’ll only get worse. I’m not out of clothing, I just seem to be running out of the “right type” of clothing. And I’m not really running out, I just don’t feel like wearing a Be the Good in Bucks County t-shirt. The hoodies are of little use in 80 degree weather. I tried to read and instead imagined a laundromat in small and dusty roadside town in west Texas – maybe that’s the ideal place to think. A place where there is nothing else to see. Dust, a gas station, a general store, a motel, and a laundromat. I don’t know if such towns exist. I thought about writing – something other than this.
I went back to trying to read, my mind still doing areal acrobatics on this trapeze of scattered thoughts. I read a poem, “Dreams,” by Mary Oliver in which she compared a stream to “Two great-uncles who went west years ago / And got lost in Colorado / Looking for the good life. / I have a picture of them; each is smiling, / Glad to be young and strong. / But you never know, traveling, around what bend / The dreams will curve to an end, / And what will happen then.”
My hand was covering the other page and so that’s where I thought the poem ended. Maybe I’ll go to Barton Springs (a small green oasis in this growing city). Maybe meditation would help. I’m ready to go westward. I’m ready to see the changing landscape. I’m ready to drive the coast. I’m ready to settle in a bit. I cleared out some of the likes on the dating apps – another form of social media that I check mindlessly like saying um to fill the quiet in a conversation. I was approaching 650 potential connections that I won’t connect with. It’s been a combination of laziness and ego that have kept them in place. Like tiny jars of people and profiles. Look at how desirable I am.
The poem ends, “It was a long time ago, / Still, watching the tame creeks boil away, / My heart in sympathy pounds like a quick hoof. / I think with pride of my uncles who went west / Full of hope and vision; / I think they became healthy as animals, and rich as their dreams / Before they turned some corner and became / Two graves under the leaves.” I’m traveling west. The American cliche.
I should get on with my day. I still have a second cup of coffee to drink. They’re calling for scattered showers all week. I don’t really want to drive anywhere because I read that Austin has gotten rid of most of their free parking. I have thoughts about this too – how gentrification pushes people to the edges in even the smallest ways (it costs money to park near the places you want to eat and shop). I don’t know if the parking thing is true. I don’t feel like testing it – I’d rather walk. But showers.
The “cottage” where I’m staying (a small one bedroom one bath building in someone’s back yard) has goats. I feel like I should go out and say hi to the goats. I feel like I should sit outside and read or write (in the presence of goats). I check my phone instead. Group texts from friends about Fantasy Fest in Key West. A new like on the dating app. Two notifications on LinkedIn. I should look for jobs. I should plan my next stop. The book of poems has long since been put down on the worn and locked wooden chest at the foot of the bed. I made the coffee strong. It’s bitter. I’m learning to drink it black.
Had I settled in a hip town like Austin fifteen years ago before it was hip, I could own a bungalow on a small plot. I could have goats and a “cottage” that I rent out.
Because I don’t know what the next thought or sentence is, I check my phone like saying ummmm. I look over at my duffel bag. I only packed one pair of shorts and I’ve already worn them a few times. I mean I packed other shorts, but they’re drawstring athletic shorts with pockets not suitable for the heavy things like a wallet and cell phone and walking several miles with those things. And actually the shorts are great for the walking part, not the carrying part… and I “need” to carry bulky things like a wallet and a cell phone. We carry so much stuff with us. I’m stumbling into metaphor.
I should check on Robert (the plant). When I went to my car yesterday I saw that he had a small infestation of tiny ants. My gut reaction was to toss him out. Shit. Ants, in my car – which is how I’m getting around for the next few weeks. What a stupid idea to bring a plant with me anyway…. More measured thinking prevailed. I sprayed him with deep woods off which was all I that I had. It seemed to do the trick (in so far as the ants are concerned). We have a ways to go – and in moving him around, I’ve already pinched off (by accident) a few leaves. There’s a chance he may not make it if I’m not more careful. We might turn a corner and he becomes a gravestone in some dusty Texas town.
I really “should” get on with it. Dirty clothes, cluttered mind – time to walk it off potential rain be damned.