rant is where the heart is

diaryland: sirilyan.diaryland.com: entry for 2000-08-14 (18:56:29)
In which our plucky young hero steals from himself.

I've been here before, and I'll be here again.

It's Glenwood Springs, and they're not coming. They're not coming. How could they not come? They told us they would. This screws up everything.

It's Carbondale, and they came about ten minutes after I left.

It's Salmon Arm, and the high-mountain forest that surrounds the town becomes much more sinister when I learn the earsplitting sound I just heard was the test of the town's fire alarm. In fact, if I look over there, I can see the burn line from the forest fire that caused the town to evacuate last year. I think that it's a lot closer than I'd like it to be, and then realize that I'm surrounded by people who actually live here and probably have a much firmer opinion than that, and have the right to hold it.

It's Chicago again, and I saw that sculpture in the museum already, didn't I?

It's Manhattan a few days before the first time, and I wouldn't be surprised if I was the only straight person there.

It's Champaign, and I'm donating some money to a radio station I've never heard of and will never listen to. (Or is it Urbana? I've never really figured that out.)

It's Northampton, and I just don't understand why everyone around me is so cold. It's sixty degrees, at least.

It's Boulder, and that is such a cool T-shirt.

It's Victoria, and I am Number Six.

It's a park a long drive outside of Winnipeg, and I'm sunburnt and thirsty and my hair is a mess and I wouldn't trade it for anything. Except maybe the blister on my toe going away.

It's Saskatoon, and it's not about who I'm with, because the people I really care about, I can be with them anywhere.

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