nomads

i miss throwing things into bags and taking off. didn’t even remember what that was like till sunday, when reasons i will leave undisclosed made it necessary to vacate these premeses – necessitated flight. i felt like a fleeing demon – tossing books and shoes into plastic grocery bags, trying to find a hair brush and double-checking for my camera – i tucked underwear and extra socks in my purse, made sure i had the proper pill bottles and gloves, and was out the fucking door with my shoes barely tied. it was exhilarating, familiar, comfortable. i shook my foot the rest of the day. shook it with the shoe half off, dangling, its mind not made up. staying, going, staying, going. joe strummer in my foot.

now i want to move. live in a winnebago. live in my car. stash my flashdrives, notebooks, three shirts and a jacket in a tote bag and toss it into the car. anything missing can be found at a gas station at 3am.

what do we need? really? what do we need? i can see us in a winnebago for life, adam at the table with his colored pencils and geometry books, glasses perched on his 6-yr-old nose (i always picture him as a kid with glasses – it’s special, jerrod would get it, he was a kid with glasses, too), me with a notebook, drooling against the window as the scenery ticked past, stripes of color, eric at the wheel with his big fake serious driving face on but smiling at the eyes. the only way to raise an american child without him becoming an xbox child.

dreaming this for us. we own our appliances, but so fucking what? there is no security in the world. and i like my possesions with handles.

loved that big turkey in Skinny Legs and All. that would really top off the fantasy.

the formica on the fold out kitchen table would be orange and gold flecked, and adam’s glasses would be gold-rimmed – he’d be drawing comics on graph paper, old-fashioned schoolbooks scattered around, oversized batman shirt, sock feet. i would be barefoot and in a sundress, my head would be nearly shaved. the laptop charger and camera charger would be near each other, but i would scribble in the notebook. eric would wear a white t-shirt and aviators, shorts – and flipflops of course, because the crazy bastard would maintain it was illegal to drive barefoot. my yoda bobblehead would be glued to the dash, and in the fantasy we are somewhere in new mexico, of course – the road is straight and flat and the only colors outside are blue and sand. the radio is low, i can’t quite hear it, mainly we listen to each other and bob marley and bluegrass.

this is fantasy. i like trees. i like roots. i like knowing where everything is. i like our horses, i like the pregnant dog. but i also like WIND.

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