Wednesday, 27 July 2011

-Steele- Day Tripper

Well, my trip was a total bust. I left to try and find a little normalcy, but guess what: The rest of the world’s just as fucked up as our little corner of it.

And it doesn’t feel as cold as the stony walls of our dilapidated abode, either. Which was novel at first, but then the unfamiliar heat just began to remind me of the Motherland, and all the connotations I had been running from. (God, my life’s just been one sprint to another, each trying to escape the situation I was in before, and landing in a new, equally unfortunate one. I’d be depressed if that lifestyle didn’t agree with me so much.)

Until I got to New Jersey. New Jersey was cold.

The weather was just as balmy as the rest of the East Coast, but as I looked off into the Atlantic, an icy breeze came in, chilling me to my core. I looked around at the folk on the boardwalk, shivering, biting my lip…They all seemed just fine. Continuing on, milling about…I felt sick. Christ, not again. I left the wooden planks behind and sat against a tall tree, looking up at the branches, gulping down fresh summer air.
There were no leaves to speak of. The tree was dead, gnarled bark crackling slightly beneath my weight, as I felt my stomach drop and my eyes shudder.

Something wicked this way comes.

I didn’t stay in Jersey for long. I was holed up in a motel, making good use of the minibar (emptying the bottles of vodka and gin, and replacing them with water. Hey, it works sometimes) and listening to the news. Nothing particularly strange. Car crashes, murders, disappearances…Nothing stood out. Nothing obvious. Nothing to make me feel the way I did.

But something was going on.

I hightailed it out of there as soon as I could, only to find my way to New York where August’s little debacle was going on…Only to find my way right back home, where everyone seemed to be in an almighty tizz about this wedding I’ve heard so very much about.

I’m almost sad I missed it: seeing Spencer in full badass mode, and August as a fairly successful harlot is always the highlight of my time in this job. But I spent my time well as I waited for my normalcy, getting a bit of R&R in Vermont. Sure, nothing was going on there (does anything ever go on in Vermont?) but sometimes that’s preferable, y’know?

But now, as I sit back in my garage, listening to the faint sounds of the house settling, and a faint rustling from upstairs…that’s seeming so very far away.

Welcome home, I guess?

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