How Low Can You Go?
As I descend further into limbo, I am overcome with a preternatural calm.
This contrasts somewhat with the recent states of murderous rage that I and several unfortunate random passers-by have recently experienced.
But, it does permit me to concern myself with the finer points of managing transitions, and I've decided that it's better to leave after all of this house-related buffoonery is concluded. Both for a proper movement from one style of living into another, and to avoid leaving Pea in the midst of what has become, in our eyes, the biggest real estate clusterfuck since the Algonquins got a box of shiny stuff, some skins, and smallpox in exchange for Manhattan.
I had some concern about the timing of all this - you can only reliably cross the Rockies at certain times of the year, but even a June 1 departure date won't be a problem, if it comes to that. The last portion of my journey (the Oregon and California portion of the Pacific Coast Route) is actually better ridden in September-October, because all the tourists have gone. Traffic is definitely a consideration when you're riding a trike that's eight inches off the road.
So, it will work out, I think. I have an animation project that I can finish here, instead of on the road, and that will put some much-needed cash in the Astonished Head coffers. (Coffer, actually...I can only afford one)
And now: dinner. Some Lester Young. Maybe an Asahi.
It's...OK.
Which, given the circumstances, is saying quite a lot.
LATER:
Pea remains unconvinced.
Fortunately, all the guns are in storage.
