See the sky about to rain

Thank goodness for electrical outlets on trains.

I spent a total of about 20 hours on buses or in shady, shady greyhound stations in the last 48 hours, where the slightest of amenities is overlooked, having been deemed entirely superfluous. Now epic bus trips are nothing foreign to me. I have a romantic flair in me somewhere, and have at least on one other occasion undertaken to ride a bus for an unneccesarily long pilgrimage with the intention of "learning about myself" and "seeing the country." Too bad the people who ride greyhound buses are so fucking scary that it doesn't really matter how well-intentioned your goals are.

But more on that another time.

The good thing about traveling (for me anyway) is that it almost always yields a huge chunk of inspiration for writing. I dunno if it's the change of scenery as much as just the feeling of getting something done without having to acutally do anything at all. Things progress whether or not you want them to. Its actually the closest thing I've known to a sacntuary in my lifetime; there's no pressure to be doing something else since you're stuck where you are, so whatever you happen to accomplish during that time is bonus material.

I've kinda stalemated myself, though. Things aren't coming quite as easily as I'm accustomed to during travels. I knew that two weekends of weddings in a row would probably depress the hell outta me, but I didn't think it would drain me down to skeletal proportions. Last weekend, while weddinging it up, I felt a strange piece of paper in my blazer pocket, and pulled out a ticket stub from the first play I saw with her, complete with her name printed on it. I felt sick for a day. You don't want to go to more weddings when you feel that way.

Now I'm on the aforementioned train after meeting up briefly with my dad, stepmom and brother in DC. It was really nice seeing them, though I was so thoroughly exhausted that I fear I may have been pretty poor company.

Seeing Funk and Jason at the wedding really was worth the trip. It's nice I have friends you've got such a cool history with, even if they're practically on the other side of the world. A nice surprise was seeing my old friend Chris Tillman again. I'd totally forgotten how cool that guy is. Funk and I came up with a movie idea all spur-of-the-moment like at the wedding. It's times like these that frustrate the hell outta me andmake me really wish that Project Ginger had been telepods (Fly-like mishaps aside).

Back to the train. My dad had recommended a specific side and view for the ride, but it's become so inky dark outside that all I can see is my own reflection. I never seem to look the way I should, or the way I picture myself looking. Right now I look like some hunched Dickensian poet, and the writers block only makes this more image more pathetic.

Dad gave me my old middle school saxophone today, which I haven't used in probably like eight years. I'm stoked to bust it out again and add it to my ever-growing menagerie. Guess I need to pick up a mouthpiece somewheres.

Can't stop listening to Neil Young's On the Beach. A mostly forgotten album. Feels familiar.