Sigh. *crunch*

I like salt. I shut the bag to stop my nibbling. (Utz Ripples have a LOT of salt. Yum.)

I'm probably one of the only people who procrastinates reading Harry Potter. Book Six has been sitting in my room for nearly three months, and it's logically next on my reading mix, but I've been putting off starting it for at least two days. Mostly because... I'm not sure. Because.

My greatest "adventure" this week was walking 15 minutes in the cold early morning. With windchill, below zero, Fahrenheit. Little Miss Temperate Climate immersed in the extreme. Why am I living here? Or, why aren't I more warm-blooded?

Life isn't particularly exciting. Perhaps it's better this way. It's not steady - there are definitely ups and downs - the sine wave is not approaching zero - but it's not wild or erratic. The lows aren't the deepest depths, nor the highs beyond the stratosphere. Now I get to learn to manage, to find stability, within a life that is not consistent. To balance the more up with the more down, to somehow stay near enough the center that the pull of gravity doesn't accelerate me beyond what I can endure. Perhaps just seeing the center is the key - I don't have to be there to recognize it, or to turn towards it. Maybe it's more about orientation than exact location. Not that location doesn't matter, but when things are simultaneously this changeable and this always the same, the orientation, the turn, becomes more important. Like with glasses - if you're near-sighted or far-sighted, the location, the distance from your face, matters. But once the location is somewhat fixed, if you have astigmatism (like I do), the the orientation, the exact angle of the lens to your eye, becomes critical. Just a slight twist to the frames wrecks the angle, and blurs your vision. They may be in the right place, but they're wrong all the same. Now I get to learn how to be the flower on the windowsill, that turns to face the sun, until this becomes such a habit that if it's moved somewhere else, it still follows the light.

Maybe I avoid Harry Potter because I expect it to get between me and the light. Not that I'd go so far as to accuse the books of being evil - they have darkness in them, but also redemption. But they're fiction, they're fantasy, they AREN'T REAL, and right now the sky is so gloomy it's hard to find the sun to face it, and maybe Harry Potter will cast more shadows, or shine a false light, and just cause more uncertainty. The book won't give me answers, that's for sure. If anything, they'll inspire a longing for a different life, a different reality; a dissatisfaction with this life, with reality. That's my problem with fiction. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE reading, especially fiction. I studied literature for a reason. But. If I already feel itchy in this skin, reading about a fascinating other possible skin makes me try to escape this skin, makes me want to pretend I'm in the other skin, makes putting up with the itch even less possible. If a book will make me want a different life - ie, want the life in the book - I put my guard up. This is the life I have. I know I don't really want to go to Hogwarts. I don't really want to be a wizard. I don't really want to use a word or flip of the wand to cook, or wash dishes, or clean my room. I want more direct, tactile responsibility for what I do. I don't want to be able to use one word to kill someone, or torture them, or flip them upside down, or anything else. Words can already to so much harm; I prefer them left up to interpretation rather than become concrete forces.

I want to live here. Now. In the freezing cold, clutching a mug of tea, with my socked and slippered feet tucked under me, or even slipping on ice when I walk into town. In a house full of people, a cat, and an occasional visiting puppy. Feeling my hands drying and cracking because of the dust and dirt of books and money. Frying three eggs for breakfast every morning. Eating potato chips because I'm craving salt. And putting off reading Harry Potter #6 because I don't want to become dissatisfied with here. I'm just a person, a mere muggle, with still-lacking social abilities, annoying food intolerances, very bad eyesight, not enough patience, and too many interpersonal confusions. But I'd rather be me than anyone in fiction. And I'd rather be here than anywhere else, too. There. That's a declaration: I'd rather be me than anyone else, and I'd rather be here than anywhere else.

Maybe now that I've cleared that up, I can make dinner and curl up with the Half-Blood Prince. Who knows?

An Amherst Adventure

Today I had a meeting in Amherst.

Which is about 2 and 1/2 hours away, unless traffic is bad.

My normal ride couldn't go out this time, so last night I scrambled to find a car to drive. Finally found one. Then the other person who was going decided not to because he didn't feel well.

So I woke at 6.15 this morning, and by 7.40 was on the road. By myself. Looking towards a 2+ car ride, alone, to a place I'd never driven to before, looking not-forward to potential terrible Boston traffic. And with no music. Just me, the car, the road rumbling under the tires, and the sound of my own voice as a talked and sang to myself and to God in an attempt to keep awake and alert. Oh, and I had my chocolate mate in its travel mug for the very slight caffeine boost.

I made it down 128/95 just fine, then unintentionally got off at the exit for Rt 2A instead of Rt 2. Somewhere in the back of my head I knew they joined up at some point, and seemed to recall taking 2A once before to avoid traffic. Turns out, Rt 2A between 95 and Rt 2 is rather pretty, passing the Minuteman park stuff. There also is very little traffic on it.

I made it easily enough onto Rt 2 from 2A, and began the longest leg of the trip - all the way out to 202. As I traveled westward, traffic diminished, until, just past Fitchburg, at mile marker 93, there was one car behind and to the side of me, and none others in sight on my side of the road. I was roaring down the fast lane, when

BLAP!

A sound between a pop! and a blam! and a suddenly listing car, joined with a strange rhythmic noise alerted me to: a flat tire. My first ever.

It proved easy enough to maneuver the car to the outside bank, turn on my hazards, and double check that, yes, indeed, the right front tire was quite flat and floppy. I slid back into the driver's seat, took a deep breath, and called my friends who were also driving west to the same meeting. Thankfully, they were only a few miles ahead of me, so they promised to turn around and come help me change the tire - after having me check to make sure there was a spare tire. (There was, thankfully.)

I relaxed in my seat, resolving to wait for my friends before doing anything else, alone on the side of the road, hazards still flashing. The sun warmed my face. Then, the unexpected happened: someone pulled over! And climbed out of their car, saying they'd be glad to help change the tire - it'd only take a minute! Is it sad that I have come to expect New Englanders to never do this sort of thing? Many cars had passed before the one stopped. But one did stop! It blew my mind, and made my day!

Needless to say, my friends arrived just as the kind stranger was beginning to loosen the bolts. The tire was switched, and we drove to the nearest gas station to give it a little more air (it was a bit low). Then I followed my friends the rest of the way to Amherst, no problems, and laughing and grinning to myself.

After our 5 hour meeting/lunch/catching up, I climbed back into the car - still just me, myself, and I - and drove east. I left Amherst around 4, which meant a high risk of crazy rush-hour traffic once back near Boston. But -

- again, it was good. I found 2A, thereby dodging part of Rt 2, and part of 128/95. And hit 95N right around 6 o'clock. Not good, right? Except... traffic toodled along around the speed limit almost the entire way up 95 and 128. Unbelievable! Yes, there were many much cars. Far too many for my comfort. Yes, it slowed occasionally. But mostly, it practically flew. Red taillights stretching in rows in front of me, actually moving at a good speed! I was home before 6.30.

I'm still in shock. Mostly because I'm so unaccustomed to driving with so many other cars on the road. And all those lights coming the other way gave me a headache. And stupid Boston roads have nearly invisible white dashed lines. I don't normally drive so fast so much. I've never driven 5 hours by myself before. I got up early. I'm tired. I talked a LOT to keep myself awake. And made up a bunch of little songs, none of which I'm likely to remember. I drank more caffeine than I ever do in one day, and kept my eyes open SO MUCH! The way back I was practically quivering with concentration, constantly telling myself I wasn't worried or freaked out, every muscle and nerve in my body tense and squealing.

But I'm home. Quite safe. Quite tired. Quite sure if I ever do that again, I want a smaller car. Jasper is curled up on my bed. Tomorrow I can sleep in. I need to make a phone call. I need to eat something more substantial for dinner than cereal. Even though I've watched (and helped a little), I honestly don't think I could change a tire by myself. My head knows how, but my body isn't strong enough. Sigh. Thank God for friends and good people!