There Must Be Some Kind of Way Out of Here

Themes. Keaton's big on those. I try to infuse my writing with such well-spun threads. But sometimes, as my post from earlier today (or last night, whichever way you call it) shows, I like to type in random thoughts as they occur. I wonder how many I missed—how many synaptic treasures went quietly into that good night, never being recognized or mused upon. Maybe none. Maybe it's just the one thought at a time. I like to think there's more going up there than that, but then again, I was exhausted as I hammered out that post at one o'clock this morning.

Speaking of... I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've ever double-posted. Is that what it's called? Posting twice in one day? Such a boring term: double-posted. Let's see if there is a term coined for this (admittedly simplistic) phenomenon...

...and a quick unscientific search yielded no such common term. And so I tried to come up with something. Now you'd think that a guy who fancies himself a writer AND works in marketing all day coming up with brilliant copy, snappy leads, and amazing taglines would be all over this. Alas, the few attempts I made to coin a term were frightening and I cannot share them here.

It doesn't help that there's little gas left in the tank this week. Running on bingo-fuel, to toss out some Keaton parlance.

Which brings me back to the reason for this post (and the fact that I found my way back to my original thought is astounding considering I haven't had caffeine yet today). Themes. Sitting here, taking five minutes to brace for one of those work-days that kicks you in the crotch and makes you its bitch (yes, it's gonna be one of those days, I'm fairly convinced of that), I was reading over my last few blogs and noticed that I have cabin fever. City fever would be the more accurate term.

So I'm gonna go somewhere this weekend. Not sure where. Nothing too far or expensive. In fact the only real money I'll spend is on gas and maybe lunch. Sadly, this won't be a true vacation. But then again, maybe it will be. My normal sojourns in other places usually are planned out in detail with appointments and things to do or monuments to see. Always the planner, even my spontaneity is penciled in.

Drive. I'll take a drive. Not sure in which direction. Doesn't matter. Just away from here. From the din. From the daily tasks, the errands, the desk that I see way too much. I love driving. Watching the towns rolls by, stopping in places that are so far removed from my everyday life that I can only sigh in contentment that there are places in this world where you don't have to answer to a page. You don't have to wear a suit. I'm sure the people who live in those places have their own burdens. But it would be nice, wouldn't it. To relax? For a whole day. A half a day. Even for an afternoon. I'll just drive as far as I can go (and still get back) on one tank of gas. I'll find somewhere quiet. Maybe I'll nap. Or read a book. Or write a scene. Or just watch the clouds.

And it will be glorious.