Another day...off.

Usually I'd be hitting the road, but this month's tight due to the upcoming move, and I don't wnat to be caught short. Not to mention going to Chicago with a week and a half of our move. It'll be a busy time, but it will be good for everyone. For B, we'll be out of his house. For me, I'll be out of his house and a responsible member of society (or something like that.) and for you...you? I'll have more space to work. I won't be cramped living in a 10' x 10' space with another person...we'll be able to hide from one another and I'll be able to draw and do comics and I won't have such a neglected website anymore. I feel silly having an art site without any real 2001 art. Writing yes, photos yes...but no new art. (I have piles of sketches on my desk...but none really worth scanning.)

I think I'll get out of this biking gear and run across the street and meet up with Ali for lunch or something. I could wax poetic about that too...but sometimes it's better to keep your mouth shut than to blabber on and on and on about nothing. (I don't feel interesting right now.)

Rock over London, Rock on Chicago

You know that feeling when your head tells you not to go...but you do?

Last night while driving home, I took route 84 E...my usual route except for the contruction, but I figured, HEY! It's Sunday! No one should be working on Sunday night I went ahead. I knew I should have got off on exit 5...but I kept going. I was driving and remembered the time that a truck backed into my old Daytona and crushed the hood and how I was scared and mortified and didn't do anything. Traffic was starting to slow down on 84. B gave me a word of advice when traffic on a highway is merging, go into the lane where all the big trucks are. So I went into the right lane where all the traffic was merging so I wouldn't have to jockey for a spot later. All is well. Beastie Boys are playing, and I have a KMX energy drink I picked up at the Amoco right after work. (It took me a while to figure out the taste, but it tastes like a fuzzy navel sans alcohol.) Traffic is going 5 miles an hour. The car in front of me is slowing down, I slow...hit the brakes, the car jars forward. My foot is on the brakes, the car is going forward. I step harder. This was like the bad dream the night before when I was speeding on a highway and the car kept going faster and faster and the brakes wouldn't work and I had to dodge all of the cars on the highway...but now I'm panicked, going the same 5 miles an hour with an 18 wheeler pushing me along. I pull off the road to assess the car. Not bad...but a big scratch. (luckily we were going slow.) Traffic moves and the truck pulls past me. I jump in the car, pull up along side of him, the truck moves again. I run to the cab, jump up on it and bang on his window. Here I am, hanging off the cab of an 18-wheeler, energy drink still in hand banging on this big guy's window telling him he hit me, he fucking hit me and he looks at me like I'm crazy. (I scared him at least, staring in on him driving.)

He pulls the truck off the road and we argue and argue. He keeps telling me he was paying attention to the car in front of him. I asked him how that could be because *I* was the car in front of him. He tells me he didn't feel it. Of course he didn't, he's in a giant truck and I'm in a plastic '94 Saturn! So I pulled my final card. I cried. I started wailing. I told him that this wasn't even my car, my roomate lent it to me and how dare he accuse me of lying...why would I go far to make this up?

I think that scared him more, but he left me there...and I took down the truck number. Doubt I can get anywhere with this.

Damn. And this overshaddowed me running into a highs chool friend that I haven't seen for ohhh...six years now.