Thursday, July 30

White Girl Thinking Time

I made it.

Yesterday was my longest drive out of the three days I was traveling: Bozeman to Seattle, roughly 700 miles. I left the Super 8 with a pleasant experience with Matt the Manager. Matt the Manager comped my room for the ensuing battle between light switches and kitchenette appliances which caused my insulin to possibly go bad. He gave me his business card and was more than willing to pay for the costs of replacing my insulin if it is indeed no good in 28 more days. I was going to write them a scathing Yelp review, but after the positive experience with Matt the Manager in the morning and the fact that no one is probably viewing Yelp frustrations in Bozeman, Montana, I let it slide.

I left around 9am and pounded west. Parts of the drive were sad, which were mostly based on what music came on during the journey.


Screaming Trees - Nearly Lost You (because 90s)

It's hard to regulate your emotions when you're in a speeding cube for three days in a row. Somewhere between the rolling hills and the ample amount of road construction, I decided to drive the rest of the way home without stopping for another night. It would have been silly to stay in Spokane or even Ellensburg (where the Screaming Trees are from and where the above video was filmed) when Seattle is just on the other side of the mountains I've missed so much. I gained an hour due to the time change and hauled through the Continental Divide, Missoula, the Idaho panhandle, Eastern Washington, and Snoqualmie Pass.


Anaconda and Opportunity, Montana. Bonus: bug guts.

The drive across Washington State was the longest part of the decrescendo of my journey. Lots of wheat fields and tired truckers. I inadvertently timed my drive to enter the greater Seattle area at the start of rush hour. I slogged through Issaquah, Bellevue, Mercer Island, and finally West Seattle to get home. 

Home. 

I entered the condominium with my backpack, purse, and cooler full of possible functioning insulin. And there he was. Yelling at me, sniffing me, rubbing his sides against my jeans I've never washed. Patrick was with my mom for about three weeks while I tied up loose ends and made plans for my return to Seattle. I brought his bed with me in the car and a few more toys that I discovered behind couches and underneath the refrigerator. He slept with me last night, nestled in the bend of my legs. I'm so happy to have him back, the friend who won't judge me, shame me, or leave me. 

My body took a beating from eating fast food for the last three days. I'm looking forward to eating meals at a table and not in a car, having a cheeseburger with coleslaw and corn-on-the-cob and not a "#2," scraping my plate clean and not stuffing wrappers into the supposedly biodegradable sack in which they were handed to me. There's an abundance of snacks I purchased in case my blood sugar dropped while I was driving. Now that I'm staying put, sour watermelon candy and peach rings are daunting me from my new kitchen. Hopefully someone will want these horrible confections that destroy tongues and teeth. 

Today I woke up to the sounds of manual labor and the Blue Angels doing a practice run over Puget Sound to prepare for Seafair weekend, a drunken weekend filled with friends who have boats and hydroplane races and regrettable decisions. Even now they're twirling overhead, booming through the air as a sign of coming attractions. 


Seafair: Not For Sobriety!

I think the effects of my Wellbutrin dose are finally hitting me. I'm now just able to "wake up." I open my eyes, toss a bit, check Facebook, and then I'm just up. My circadian rhythm is finally beginning to match up with productive members of society. One of the unexpected side effects is that I'm not really interested in smoking anymore, which is an extremely weird sensation. I finish a meal, start my car, or get ready for bed, and I know that normally I would be smoking or dragging my vaporizer. I think it's the routine that Wellbutrin is helping me break. Under usual circumstances, I would have smoked two packs on the way across the country. Instead, I had two cigarettes and sort of forgot that I even had an e-cigarette. Finally, a positive side effect. If only medications had these more often. Your student loan debt has been absolved! Your calves will be more proportioned to your body! You'll no longer lose your hair when you're stressed out!

In typical home body fashion, I'm drinking an iced latte and watching a Law & Order: SVU marathon on USA. Well, I shouldn't say "watching." It's the background noise to me writing this post. I think it helps me feel not so alone. I've done the same thing in the past with Seinfeld and The Office while I've dicked around on the internet because television alone can't keep me amused. Kitty is asleep on the ottoman in front of me with all of his feet up, and the fans are running full blast to keep the apartment cool. Air conditioners aren't really a thing in Seattle: it's usually never warm enough to need one. Six years ago, the summer I was working at Domino's and making nightly trips to Olympia for drunk sex, the summer was disastrously hot in July and August. People were moving their couches outside and placing their TVs in their windows to stay comfortable while enjoying entertainment. I remember being somewhat perplexed about why people would want to order scalding hot pizza and Bread Bowls when the temperature remained above 100 degrees. But my car had air conditioning, an iPod, and I could smoke between deliveries. Working for Domino's helped me save up for Europe and gave me some flexibility with my hours while I made a decent wage. I figured I could always go back to driving delivery, but I don't want to put my car through the ringer because people want cheap wings with their Meatzas. 


What should we add to this carb bomb? More carbs!

This weekend I'll get to spend some much needed time with my mom. How I've missed her so. I kept my word about staying in close contact while I was driving here, usually with short texts.

In bad storm. 
Gassing up in Sheridan. 
Hotel in Bozeman 135. 
80 miles to go. 

I keep getting the feeling I'm only here to visit, as if I'm going to be flying back to Minneapolis in a few days. But I'm here for the foreseeable future. It's strange living in a home that's so perfectly furnished, unlike the haphazard IKEA sauna I was living in. I have my kitty and my loved ones who support me. And that feels really good. 

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