Oh. Crap. I’m breaking out of the writing lockdown. Tomorrow. Early. The getaway vehicle? A 1992 Toyota Corolla, white but a bit rusted out. I tried to stay put, but I’ve reached my Louisville limit: 14 days. The car is packed, and I head out West tomorrow morning. Sunday night: Omaha. Monday night: Denver, where I’ll be breathing mountain air and driving underneath an endless sky.
I’m embarrassed to admit how easily I was lured away. I had planned to stay in Louisville for at least another month to plug away at my writing and to hang out with my parents. Yes—some writing has been done, and I’ve picked up some online writing work, but the real clincher came when a guy e-mailed me on Thursday afternoon to offer me a very part-time job selling ski passes in Boulder. I would also earn a free ski pass for the upcoming season. And he wanted to know if I could be in Broomfield for a meeting on Monday night. Um. Okay.
The packing today went rather quickly, since I have not fully unpacked anything in the past year. I just tossed everything out on the floor of my room this morning and started stuffing it into bags. It worked.
I will admit that I’m a bit nervous about my finances (always) and otherwise just hoping that The Van starts when I decide to go to Limon to pick it up, hoping that I figure out a safe and sane living arrangement, hoping that I continue to pick up more writing work, etc. I haven’t had to give plasma yet…
That’s the latest. Give me a honk if you see me out on the road!