New HampShire. Bienvenue.

The Connecticut River bridge on route 5, which runs between Norwich, Vermont and Hanover, New Hampshire, and represents the state borders, drew an enormous smile from me yesterday. I cannot believe that we are in New Hampshire. I walked along the bridge, smiling stupidly despite the pouring rain. I think that my facial expressions brightened the prospect of the enormous traffic jam, because several people either beeped or waved.

We-- the 'we' for many weeks now comprising only Hermes, Saint, Rusticus and myself-- unanimously decided that the "free camping" option available in the woods adjacent to the Dartmouth soccer fields was a fate too terrible to subject ourselves to, and instead found a motel. This ended up being a spectacular decision (here, my ever-emptying wallet protests), as it rained, poured, deluged, for six hours afterwards. Sigh. It was so gorgeous during the day. I don't understand. Alright, enough about the weather. I'm sick of it.

I spent two hours in the Dartmouth bookstore, which, in terms of trail life, is about as close to euphoria as I come. With a coffee as big as my head, I sat down to continue with my second readthrough of Slaughterhouse-Five. I figured since the parents are coming this weekend to North Woodstock I can get a new book then. I have also decided that despite the weight, it is an integral part of maintenance of my sanity that I carry novels. I already have a spectacularly heavy pack for a female. I might as well tend to my literary needs while I'm at it.

I don't usually include my journal entries here, but this week we got holed up in Rutland, VT, due to Saint's illness, and I had quiet time, which, in its stationary form, is extremely hard to come by. I wrote a bunch of little chunks and thoughts. Since I got up to catch a bus from the motel to Hanover Center to the library for internet usage and my brain isn't working properly, I thought I would use that thought instead of trying to procure one out of this moment of fog. I wrote:

"There's a creamsicle sunset washing itself over what I think are the Adirondacks in New York. The mountains look entirely different from the quiet balcony of a motel at sundown. They are purple and strong and statuesque, but comforting-- like fortress walls viewed from the inside. The conscious choice to repeatedly climb those mountains, however, has cast them in a very different role for me."

I also wrote:

"I sat on the Ramada Limited balcony looking into the sky for some time. I leaned my head against the motel and fell into a space somewhere between meditation and pre-sleep dreams. I wondered what this meant, if it meant that I wasn't happy, or that I was tired, or just that I felt relaxed and had stationary solitude for the first time since being home. Perhaps it was the first sunset in weeks, and the mountains being off in the distance instead of underneath my weary body. But, I transported myself, and did so without intention."

And, end quote.

I made only 2 phone calls in the last 2 1/2 weeks. I was afraid of falling in love with the voices on the other end. I wondered if I had been relying on those voices when I should have been relying on introspection in the face of persistent solitude and struggle and disconnect. I don't think there's a right way. I think each way enhances a different set of challenges to this journey. Though, I do admit that I might be a total looneytune when I get home...instead of just a half-looneytune like usual.

I had a thought the other day also, one so ironic that it made me laugh out loud: When people ask that "What would you do with a million dollars?" question, I usually reply, "I would travel and write."
HA!
That is, of course, exactly what I'm doing right now. I never thought it would be so... uncomfortable. Ah, c'est la vie, no?

Alright, that's all the thinking for today. So scram. Back to work!


p.s. Thanks to Chelle and Steve who continue to be an allstars of life sending packages and goodies and multitudinous postcards and smiles. Thank you guys!!!