Home Sweet Home

It’s the middle of May for crying out loud.

My attention span is the size of a mustard seed making me super spontaneous and unpredictable. 2 days ago I was on a greyhound bus from Missouri, head home to Grant’s Pass Oregon. The bus was traveling through Colorado where I was to transfer buses in Denver to continue my journey home. Well I grew up in the mountains of Colorado and have just recently moved to Oregon so even though I live in Oregon and honestly plan on spending the rest of my life there Colorado is and always will be my home. So naturally when the bus stopped in Denver I got off with the intention of spending the night and catching the bus the following day. I had to pay $20 to change my ticket but it’s a small price to pay to be able to spend time with those you love. But as often is the case with me, things didn’t go exactly as planned and I missed the bus yesterday and then again today and here I still sit in Colorado. I’ve never been good with plans, in fact I despise plans and loath being forced to make one. I feel plans are just a recipe for disappointment and so prefer to just play it by ear and try and fully live in every moment. It sounds legit but it rarely is, more often then not causing numerous problems and unforeseen obstacles which could have easily been avoided had I had a plan. I’m tentatively developing a plan to get on that bus tomorrow, finally. I’m days overdue and while I’m not needed for anything, so I’m not really missing out on anything, I do actually have quite a lot of shit that I need to do if I want to accomplish the feat of changing my life. I had thought about maybe just flying the rest of the way, the bus ride is still 2 days long, through Utah and Idaho, two states I’m not very fond of, and a plane ticket would only cost me like $60 but my whip is in Grant’s Pass and the plane would take me to Portland, which is not close to where my truck is at. So taking a flight isn’t an option, bus it is. 2 long days on the bus, traveling through unexciting locals full of Mormons and militia anti-government type hillbillies. Both the kind of people who don’t like punk rockers a whole lot and who in my experience are typically close minded and opinionated and not very friendly. The route takes me through nothing I find of interest so it looks to be a fairly boring trip, a extremely long, fairly boring trip. But it needs to be done. I need to get back home so I can actually begin to if not live my new life then to at least prepare for it. And my truck is parked semi-illegally on a residential street so I’m a tiny bit concerned about that. I feel that it’s gonna be fine but it would suck a fat dick to show up and find my truck missing. And with my bus coming in at like 12:30 am I’ll be kinda boned if my whip ain’t there, because everything will be closed and most people asleep so I’ll be somewhat up shit creek without a paddle. Think positive, no sense thinking the worst, won’t help any and in fact has a better chance of making things worse. My vacation, my adventure to go and visit some close friends in Missouri and to met their rad new little baby Zoe who I had been eager to meet so definitely a success, the trip out there went fairly smooth with the only snag being their misplacing of my luggage, but the trip went smooth otherwise, my seating was comfortable and the route was cool, taking me through Las Angeles, Vegas, Sacramento, Denver and Kansas City. The day I sent on the bus before I got off in dinner had started out rough with my altercation with the bus driver and continue rough when a small indian family (minus the dad) was seated across the aisle from me and the infant child began to cry. The crying never stopped the whole ride to Denver and so I’m sure that little nugget influenced my getting off the bus at least a little. Hopefully the bus is empty tomorrow, definitely hope there’s no crying babies, and I hope that I find interest in the books I’ve brought to read so I can cruise through Utah and Idaho barely noticing that I’m there. I also hope my whip is still there. I’ll be salty as fuck if it’s not and it will be nobody’s fault but my own. Anyways, this punkrock trainwreck is about to hit the old Oregon trail. Grant’s Pass or bust.

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