spinning away by brian eno and john cale

spent my day off today driving for hours and hours instead of doing anything productive, which is fine i think

ever since moving back home, and breaking the 5 year "missing persons" streak, i've been driving long distances as often as possible. there's something about driving that makes everything feel light. recently i drove to wisconsin and back just because i could

i love seeing the sky, and people, and showing up without caring where i am or who sees me. still feeling the jolt from being plugged back in. i keep thinking, "now that you've un-disappeared, it's time to reach out to the people you knew", but i can't bring myself to do it.

nobody knew where i went or if i was okay, and now coming back i look so different and feel so different that i'm not sure if they'd even recognize me. it's been three months, and i haven't run into a single person yet. maybe they've all moved out of town by now. maybe i don't recognize them anymore.

i don't know what i would do if we met again, but everything has been so displaced by time that it might not even matter anymore. half a decade does a lot.

continuity of self, rather than feeling like you were born violently and suddenly 5 years ago, is a hell of a drug. when i ran away it felt like i was just born for a second time, with no hometown no name and no skull, everyone i knew was dead to me and i might as well have been dead myself. when i moved back home it was like i was born a third time, back into a life i forgot about. it sat underwater for five years until all the dirt was soaked away and now i'm here again, shiny and wet and clean.

i like driving, i like songs about driving, i like rural towns and cornfields and the radio and the cool air that comes as the sun goes down.

i don't want to go back to work tomorrow, but it's leagues better than what i was doing before.