The title to this post is a literal representation of something that's actually happening as I write it. Think of it as meta-fiction. Er, meta-blogging.
I just had a tough conversation. It'll be tough for a while. You know the conversation, you've had one with your mom or your neighbor when you hit his mailbox backing out of the driveway. The only thing that ever comes out of it in the end, is my body feeling a bit lighter and I have to pee. Well, that's not entierly true. Nobody knows what's true about conversations.
When my grandmother died in May, my dad inherited her Hyundai station wagon. It's silver and has less than 35 thousand miles on it. Driving it around and merging it between a Land Cruiser and an S-series Mercedes leaves a feeling of inadequacy. The car is something you can't see on any map, a breadcrumb you mistake as an island. It's alright, though. In this car, people just let you drive.
It's been driving me to work. Granny listened to the Beatles a lot. When I sat down to drive it to work last Wednesday Let it Be was on, and that's all I've listened to driving to work, running errands or getting food.
Well, until right now:
Muncie poetry reading on the 7th. Please be there, if you're anywhere close.
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