On the move. I arrived late last night, as the 16th became the 17th. It was a long ride but thanks to a wonder drug called caffeine, the 3.5 hours flew by. As someone who never drinks coffee or other caffeinated beverages, it was an eye opener. The rush as it hit my blood was really something. Suddenly all the world felt mine for the taking. I wanted to scream WOOOOO at the top of my lungs. And I did. Speeding madly in and out of traffic, barreling over black asphalt in the dark while my eyes darted from the rearview to the road and side to side, I found my chemically enhanced cognition exhilarating. I contemplated filing my taxes on my phone while I drove, or maybe tweezing my eyebrows. The feeling of insusceptibility to sleep was intoxicating and I wondered what I would do with all these newfound hours. Certainly I wouldn't sleep for at least another 3 days. I fantasized about the astrophotography to be had upon arriving at Yosemite, and then about the sunrise. I fantasized about getting pulled over by a cop and talking my way out of it, about telling him how I'd just done my taxes. A previous life where I was a race car driver flashed fully before my eyes. How does one secure sponsorship from Monster energy drinks? After googling directions to a Michael's Arts & Crafts store, and listening to a Lynda podcast on graphic design at 4x speed, I began drafting up a decal to adhere to the side of my rental car.
Soon it felt as though multiple millennia had come to pass. Eons had dawned and died. Intricate histories were drawn onto the walls of my mind. I checked the clock and it had only been 15 minutes. Finding myself craving communication, I called and chatted with Holly for half an hour. I talked nonstop, and in exquisite detail, about anything and everything that crossed my mind. Coffee is a diuretic, they say. She told me I was up. I know, I told her, and I'm never coming down. I sang karaoke to Bush's classic 90's single, Comedown, and remembered Holly was still on the phone. She went to sleep, and I sang Sweet Dreams.
After some rigorous, pre-sleep calisthenics, I brushed my teeth and got into bed. After a few minutes I realized the fridge in the hotel room was noisy. I got up and inspected the snugness of the door and its hinges, the shoddy quality of its latching mechanism. Soon I'd taken the fridge out from under its home and unplugged it. I rummaged around a toolshed in the parking lot looking for a screwdriver and realized I wasn't wearing a shirt. Back in the hotel room, armed with a mop, cleaning detergent and a wet rag, I took to spiffing up the bathroom. In the mirror I could have sworn I saw the gleam of Mr. Clean's head. It hurt my eyes at first and I winced as I brought my hand to cover them. I stood dumbfounded looking out the bathroom window as his bald, glowing head transformed into a brilliant ball of sunshine making its way over misty mountains.
They smelled like Pine Sol.
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