Foul Winds and Crooked Paths

When one goes where the wind blows, as I do, sometimes the wind blows in a direction one doesn’t want to go. That’s part of the deal.

Due to some personal reasons and also due to the current ridiculously unsafe temperatures in all the places I want to go out west, I’m putting The Making Lemonade Road Tour 2018: Just the Sugar, Honey on ice for a few weeks. I’ve come back to DC for the time being to regroup and replan the road tour.

I’m not thrilled.

Although I have a safe place to land here, and a couple someones who love me, a gilded cage is still a cage.

I confess I’ve developed a special animosity and resentment toward the Washington DC metro area. I don’t particularly care for city life in general: too many people in too small a space, too much light, too much noise, and so many streetlights at night of a color that makes me physically sick to my stomach, just for starters. The city at night is that putrid yellow color of death and decay. Seriously, who’s the sick motherfucker who invented high-pressure sodium bulbs and thought, “well, that’s a lovely color, let’s go with that”? Why can’t it just be dark? Why can’t it ever be quiet? Who the fuck are all those people driving around at 3AM making traffic sounds a 24/7 grind of white noise on my nerves? But DC is special. DC is the place where I got stuck. It’s the place that trapped me when Gypsy needed so much work, and it’s the place that continues to stick me to it like fly paper. I may never forgive the capital city for that. To get stuck here again is killing my non-existent soul. Do. Not. Want.

But here I am, for reasons of temperature and money and whatever else, and the road trip will have to wait a bit. More lemons, more lemonade. Let’s see what happens.

Also, raccoons are adorable.