I talked to my little sister last night. She said my blog reads like fiction.
“Well, think of it more like an autobiography,” I explained.
“But it’s NOT like an autobiography,” she told me. “An autobiography is like, first I went here, then I did this. Your blog is like, then I went to mars on a space ship and explored it’s wet surface.”
“You think my life is too magical?”
“No. Everyone’s life is magic. You just THINK your TOO magical.”
There you have it. I think I’m too magical. Which is actually really interesting, because I have been really interested in the sociological and psychological functions of the fetishization of self (which I guess is the same thing as thinking you’re too magical). I’ve been rather trying to avoid it, at least until I understand it, but maybe I haven’t managed to avoid it as much as I thought. Wisdom from the mouth of babes and all that.
I walked the long way around two blocks with Bro. Sometimes I think of this Charles de Lint story I read one time, about a girl who made up her own rituals, and then I make my own. So I walked around two blocks with Bro and looked at every single thing I saw and it was a spell for joy.
Then I went to the grocery store across the street and got a banana (and used their bathroom). A native woman asked to use the phone to call a cab, and the manager was a dick to her. He was all, “not right now, I’m busy and I’ll have to show you how to use the phone.”
Then he turned around and tried to make all nice with me, “hello there ma’am, have you found everything okay? How are you doing?”
I just glared at him and gave the woman my cell phone to use. I wish I could make up a spell to change the world and eradicate racism and make everyone be human. I’d bring our population back down to carrying capacity, while I was at it.
Back in the van I’m parked in front of a strip mall with a 24 hour gym and wifi. Cars are coming and going to the gym all night, so I blend in, holed up in the back of my van writing a gazillion posts in preparation for my flight from civilization. I think about going into the gym for a shower, some cardio, and soaking in a hot tub, but I don’t want to deal with people. So I sit here and write until the battery dies and then I go to sleep.
Morning comes when Bro wakes me up by going in his crate and barking for breakfast. One in the afternoon. There are cars all around the van. I climb down stealthily and sit in front of Bro, brushing my teeth. When I’m done I slide the door open cautiously and peek out. An old guy is sitting in a truck two spaces down staring at me. I grin at him and spit my toothpaste down on the pavement and shut the door. I’ve become an expert at changing clothes while sitting all folded up on the van floor. All my jeans are dirty. I mean, I only have two pairs, but still: they’re both dirty. I put on my cotton pants and a tank top, and then I climb into the front seat, flash that old man another smile, and drive away. I park on the other side of the strip mall and take Bro out to pee.
I have to eat the rest of the yoghurt today so that I can fit a fresh container in the cooler. I mix in the last of my berries too. I love Nancy’s brand organic yoghurt. It’s super creamy and thick, a totally different animal than the cheap little containers of yoghurt you get at WalMart.
When I’m done eating Bro and I go for another walk around a couple blocks. There is chickweed growing in the big cement boxes that they put trees in here in the big city. I eat some.
Life is magical. I like it.