The Road.duhz

The little things hit you when they aren't supposed to.  Like when you sit down to watch an episode of Bravo's Top Chef and realize this will be the last episode of the show you'll see before travelling nine hours by plane.  Or when you pick out the next summer read from your bookshelf and suddenly become painfully aware that there is no way in hell that you will be finishing it.  But maybe you could....if you could only fit it in your bag.

But black bag cannot hold everything; black bag can only hold the things that are most necessary.

And a book isn't necessary?  Since when?  Since when are Tana French and Augusten Burroughs not worth a spot in four months worth of life?  What could possibly be so much better than a novel to on a bench in South Gate or a chapter (or two or three) amidst the contemporary art gracing the Serpentine Garden? 

Oh, right.  A toothbrush.  A pair of *SEXY* grey jeans.  A camera.  A contact case.  A pencil.  A journal. A Passport?  I suppose there are many things that could replace a bound set of paper and words, but nothing can emulate the scent of letters or the way the a page feels as it turns across your fingertips.

I will miss reading.  Perhaps a paperback can fit in my carry-on.

Six days.  SIx daYs.  XI Days. Nope.  There's no way to type those two words without evoking terror, anxiety, and more than a hint of excitement.

(I think Tiffany is going home;  she's my favorite.  There will probably be tears.  In no way could they all be attributed to reality TV.)

The Swan Thieves, The Lost Symbol, Blink, Pyres, PUSH, The Magicians, City of Thieves, In the Woods, This Will Kill You, The Convalescent, The Shack, The Passage, Her Fearful Symmetry, Angelology, A Spot Of Bother, Liberal Fascism, Dry, The Tin Drum, To Kill A Mockingbird, A Good and Happy Child, The Memorist, The Children's Book, The Abstinence Teacher, Lanceheim, The 13 and 1/2 Lives of Captain Bluebear, The Angel's Game, Perfect Family:  How could I leave pieces of my soul on the shelf?  I remind myself that it's a month or two or three or four.  That's it.  At least they will have each other; I will have hygiene.

Erick, the little brother, the best, is going off to school tomorrow and the few moments we have during the morning hours amidst the countless other first years will be the last for quite some time.  Duluth is going to be great to him.  London, be good to me!

Tiffany is out.  I squeeze a copy of Cormac McCarthy's The Road into my bag.