:: a.whisper.in.water ::

:: Friday, October 17, 2003 ::

[ ...for thine is the kindom, the power, and the glory, for ever and ever ]

I lived. I made it home. I hadn't been so happy to see my house since...some fantastically lousy vacation, I guess. The point is that I'm an idiot, and am clearly protected by some divine force. I've tentatively named this patron saint of retards Saint Algernon, who patrols the heavens at the helm of the shortest short bus you eva' did see. There's an awful lot of commotion here, and I feel it warrants more of an explanation.

I got lost. More lost than I've ever been before, counting the time I took the wrong exit off of I-495 South and wound up taking I-66 East back home through D.C. after wandering through Virginia (which actually starts at Lee Highway, I'd argue). At this point, I hadn't set tread in D.C., and somehow managed to wing it pretty successfully and make it home via Canal Road. I present this as exhibit A in favor of Saint Algernon's ever-watchful eye.

Exhibit B is far, far more compelling. (NB: Those of you from the D.C. area are at a slight advantage insofar as understanding the forthcoming rant, but really, I went through places where none of you have any business being, so I feel like ignorance of the nuances of my route is expected.) I took the right exit out of UMD (after giving bad directions in worse Spanish to a couple of lost guys who pulled into the gas station I was filling up at around 3:30 a.m. in a beat-ass van. Cripes. I sure hope they made it home), but thought it was the wrong one, and wound up turning around and taking the Beltway the wrong way around. I got about 6 exits into The Wrong Way before realizing that I had to take the Beltway West, and not South (this has tripped up Allison before, and I feel like I've repaid that bit of poor instruction in spades), which is where I was headed. So, logic dictates that I take the first exit and take the Beltway the other way, like I had when I thought I was going the right way. Problem is, the exit I took was the BW Parkway. Taking BW Parkway ends my stay in Territory With Which I Was Comfortable for the next while. Such darkness did I drive through, and at no point did I see a sign to get me back. I had doomed myself with my second mistake, and I didn't call my folks to tell them what the fuck had happened, and I really really really should have.

Anyways. I wind up taking the exit for PG Hospital, which isn't in the best of areas, but I hardly noticed. Hell, it was where I was born. Cheverly, MD. So, from some or other road (God only knows what I was doing ON it in the first place; there was no good reason to be here at all; had I kept going, I would have been okay, but not great. I worsened my situation TENFOLD by attempting to make it better.), I wind up pulling a U-Turn after deciding I did NOT want to go to Upper FUCKING MARLBORO! I wound up on I-50 instead, thinking "Oh! These will take me to Washington, and I live there!" I DON'T FUCKING LIVE IN WASHINGTON D.C. At this point, I find myself on New York Avenue at 4:15 a.m., ass-deep in downtown D.C. streets. I passed the Washington Times press building, and it flashed headlines at me. I nearly cried, and I argue I had every right to. I stayed on New York, muttering insane things, since my CD had run out miles ago. This was as bad as it gets. No music, no idea where I was, and no idea how to get back to the beltway.

And then, in a total act of Saint Algernon, I found myself on Massachusetts Avenue. I have FRIENDS who live off Mass (albeit, miles and miles down the road from where I joined it). Mass gave me hope, and like a trail of breadcrumbs, I followed it through traffic circle after traffic circle, past a really neat embassy that I briefly considered taking a picture of. Unwise. I called Leah when I passed Sibley Hospital (WHAT THE FUCK WAS I DOING OUT THERE?!), and probably lost Mass as a direct result, because I had to pull another U. But then I decided wisely that I didn't need Mass anymore.

I had Wisconsin Avenue.

It took me straight out of D.C. along the most familiar of paths: The Red Line on the Metro. I grew more and more ecstatic; I fished around in my car's glovebox for tapes, and found an old copy of Lennon: Legend. Dear readers, you have no idea how perfect this music was for those who were lost, and then found. Insane shouting-alongs to "Instant Karma," "Power to the People," and "Cold Turkey" (among others) trailed in my noisy, cold wake. Wisconsin. Hits. River. Exit 39, River Road. I was officially Okay when I saw the blessed "Welcome To Maryland!" sign on the side of River, but it was when I realized that the crazy turn I took OFF of Wisconsin had actually taken me to River that I rolled down the windows and hooted at the street sign that proclaimed that I was actually ON River (it was pretty cold) in prodigal joy.

From River, it's a straight shot to Goldsboro to Clara Barton, via MacArthur. I went home. I really should have lied to the folks, and just said I'd taken the long way around the Beltway, or something; they were pretty panicked when I said where I had been. Oh well. I left two joyous, screaming messages on Jenn's voicemail (the first one ran out the timer), detailing how happy I was (deliriously) and where I had been, and how much I loved her, and how much I enjoyed driving on familiar roads. I almost hit a deer (which would have been fucking perfect, really) on the last leg of my ride home on Clara Barton, but I swerved around it and shouted at the next one I saw on my way home and sent it scampering into the woods.

::deep breath:: I'm fucking alive. Manic, and probably annoying to read, but yeah, intact.

Amen.

Music: Groovezone - Eisbaer. It's little more than catchy dancy house, but after all the baby-raping-awful happy hardcore that Cyrus listens to, I'll take what I can get. Oh, I need to write about what an absurd human being Cyrus Jovan is. THAT can wait for another time; detailing his absurdity is a mighty task indeed.

:: Aziz 5:24 AM [+] ::
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