"Insanity runs in my family. It practically gallops."*

   I’m on drugs again.

   You know what I mean…the sanity kind. Not the needle or powder kinds. In case you were wondering. Or are prone to conclusion jumping. My life hasn’t torpedoed quite that drastically (yet).

   I went cold turkey on the sanity pills for two full months before I realized that I’m just not a worthwhile human being without medication. In some ways that fact makes me feel sad and inferior. But these new Steve Austin pills make me better, stronger, faster…and maybe a little bit…what’s the word?...sane? Ouisa suggested that instead of looking at it as though I’m inherently flawed and require medication, I should think of it as if I’m really great and the meds bring that out in all its beautiful nuances. She’s really nice. She should be in PR.

   So but anyways, during the in-betweens time (between being un-medicated and then medicated again), I felt like my brain was the open, abandoned farmland for a scary carnival, replete with all the things that scare me: clowns, spiders, mirrors, axes, etc. Like my brain was the perfect setting for a horror film or Stephen King novel. I drew a picture of my brain for you:

A Rorschach image of the inside of my twisted brain.

   I can’t begin to explain how much this picture is nicer than the place inside my head,

   Am I scaring you?

   Sorry.

   And I don’t want to be weird, but I keep hearing Tom Petty’s “Free Falling” every time I turn on the radio. How is that possible? I do not exaggerate when I say that I’ve heard that song at least once a day on the radio (on different stations) since I’ve been in Omaha. It can’t be pure coincidence. But then again…if the universe is sending me a sign, it’s a bit on-the-nose, don’t you think? Okay, yeah, I get it, Universe, I’m free falling. Good grief. Try to add a little mystery to the symbolism, would you?

   So, yeah, anyhow, I’m trying to put my proverbial ducks in a row and write on the regular, but when you’re busy free falling and entertaining circus folk in your brain there isn’t a butt-load of time for that kind of shit.

   But I’m gonna shoot for a more regular schedule, now that the clowns are dead.

*Arsenic and Old Lace: Frank Capra, 1944.

"She has lost the power of conversation, but not, unfortunately, the power of speech."*

   Y’all ever feel weird and like things aren’t quite the way they ought to be? I’m not a person who fears change, but change does tend to wreak havoc on me. Lately I find myself feeling like I’m the central figure in some David Arkenstone album.

   In case you’re a normal person (or just someone with good taste), you've never heard of David Arkenstone. You should be able to find out everything about him here. My parents, who’ve instilled me with their excellent musical tastes over the years (The Beatles, Yes, Ravi Shankar, The Gershwins, The Allman Brothers, and Led Zeppelin as well as all things classical), had a dark period in the mid-nineties. It was the Arkenstone period, and I don’t want to talk too much about it. Because it’s embarrassing. But his “music” (if you can call it that) always made me feel as though it was about nomads wondering through the desert. But not, you know, like real nomads. These nomads (again, all in my head) were dressed like Olivia Newton-John in that “Physical” video. It was “Physical” meets Lawrence of Arabia. It was (is) terrible. Listen to Mr. Arkenstone sometime. You’ll get it.

   So I’ve been feeling all wandery-in-the-desert, and purposeless and also just epically removed. But maybe also a little bit like Olivia Newton-John in the "Physical" video (spandex, leg warmers, bad hair, headbands). When I get confused about my place in the world, I get tired and take a nap. But there’s really no time for that. I have to take math class (stats, finally!) and find a job (anywhere, anytime) and work on my summer bucket list.

   The bucket list isn’t long, as yet.

   Here it is:

1.  Do a pull-up.

2.  Run a mile.

3.  Run a mile in under 15 minutes (this was my time when I was on the track team in junior high and finished last at EVERY SINGLE MEET.)

4.  Get over fear of bugs, especially spiders, as there will be many of both in Texas.

   I’m currently running for 10 minutes IN A ROW and have accomplished only .63 miles. I’ve killed many spiders and one silverfish, but I’m not anywhere near over my fears. (Especially after hearing Ouisa's boyfriend, Matt, talk in a scholarly fashion about bedbugs, which I'm now convinced are crawling on me at all times.) I’m working on lat pull-downs to make my side muscles stronger.

   But I feel kind of like those people in that American Gothic** painting. I’m standing around with a bunch of tools (or just a broom?) and looking confused and angry in front of a big old barn house: the modern-day, Nebraska equivalent of wandering through the desert.

Nebraskan Gothic

*The quote is George Bernard Shaw. It should be my epitaph.

**Did you know that Grant Woods modeled the figures in American Gothic on his neighbor and his own sister? I also didn't know it was supposed to be a farmer and his spinster daughter. I always thought they were supposed to be a married couple. Wow, art.

"'Cause I've seen blue skies, through the tears in my eyes, and I realize...I'm going home."*

   Hi. It’s been a while. It’s okay if you’re over me. I’ve been sort of over myself, if you know what I mean.

   A lot has happened in the last three weeks. I won’t bore you with the details, but I will provide you with hi-lights, so we can ease back into our routine without too much hoop-la. I hate explanations. I never know what to leave out, and then I end up writing too much and everyone gets bored.

   Bored is bad.

   Okay:

1.  I live in Omaha now. It’s not permanent, but it feels strange. Being here on vacation is one thing. Living here (if only for a couple of months) feels overwhelmingly surreal. I don’t have a ton of stuff to occupy my time as yet, so I drive around and take pictures of things. Which is pretty much exactly what I did the last time I lived here…in the year 2000. Only back then I just drove around. And, to be fair, I can make anything feel overwhelming.

So strange to see in the summer, but so great all the same. Memorial Park, Omaha.

2.  Em and I drove from Los Angeles to Three Rivers, CA to see the Sequoias (more on that later). Then we drove from there to Omaha. In total it took 4 days. We are no longer sprightly, energetic people like we once were. We are slightly older and we get tired easily. Four days felt long, but three days would’ve killed us. Can’t imagine how much it would’ve hurt if we didn’t really like each other.

The drive from LA, via Sequoia National Park, Nevada, Arizona, Utah, Colorado and Western Nebraska.

3.  My life leading up to the road trip was a hazy blur of packing, drinking, eating whatever I could find, and sleeping and then doing all of those same things again. It may have been fun at times. I don’t choose to remember. 

My life pre-move: a vicious cycle.

4.  I realized the other week that I’m sexually attracted to men in drag.

5. Speaking of men in drag, did you hear Tim Curry had a stroke? E and I saw him in LA once. It remains the celebrity-siting hi-light of my existence. One of the sexiest men EVER. He's recovering properly, so don't worry.

6.  I don’t know if my succulents will survive the summer in Omaha. It’s already rained twice since they’ve been here, and the sun isn’t being too cooperative. They don’t like that. They look a lot like I do when I’m hungover. And my aloe plant has a broken arm from the road trip.

7.  I have been forced to kill three spiders in three days (Gabe would say I wasn't forced, and she herself would just pick them up with her GD hands and take them outside because she is INVINCIBLE). And I don’t want to kill them (yes I do! I do!), but not because I’m good and nature-y like Gabe, but because they horrify me, but the alternative is worse (they will mutate into Shiders and/or eat me in my sleep). It’s so spider-y in the summers in Nebraska. Just writing about it makes me feel things crawling on my skin.

8.  I feel very fat at present. And covered in webs.

   Alrighty, then, I think you’re up to speed, basically. I will write more and better things in the next few days, if my sanity holds out. I still need to find a groove but also...I was afraid to write, thinking that this would be hard for us. And then I had to figure out my parents' Interwebs code. But then I realized that one of us had to be the mature one. You’re welcome. 

*"I'm Going Home" by Richard O'Brien from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Performed by my beloved Tim Curry.