One Who Wanders (abiona) wrote,
One Who Wanders

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Don't tell me its over(road)kill.

It is a quiet night; raccoons creep along the gravel on the side of the road, no clatter can be easily traced to their paws. The moon is obscured by off-black clouds shaded dirt-encrusted orange, and a new night mist billows in the country and rests upon the farmland. Friday the 13th and Saturday the 14th look the same in this land of corn and suburbia, of shopping strips and roads given numbers, but not names.

My mood wavers through these nights and into their days, and at times I find myself nearly exploding with pent-up energy and frothing with annoyance at pointless idleness. At other times, it feels as though someone has tied white string to my shoulderblades and given this teather a sharp tug, up and over my head. I'm flying foward back first, sitting in a state where I am only miserable, wondering neither when summer vacation will end nor when it began to feel like this. I used to be happy to see these months of ease, and the fact that I now seek something else makes me wonder.

But I'm so sick of staying put that it's giving me a perpetual headache.


The extremely factual side of me wants to interrupt my sort of calm little thingie up there and say "raccoons can, actually, be extremely loud if hit by a car or if a car suffers a screeching near miss."

I've come up with another reason to want to learn how to drive eventually: it'll be harder for all you people to conveniently forget about me or say I'm too far away if I can get to where you are on my own. I'll be able to preserve the bonds we let fall because the dark country road is long compared to the orange light of the city one. No more of this goddamned "who wants to spend the time required to drive into the country" from you people "in the city," no more of the sighs when I am lost and can't give you proper directions. I like being lost sometimes.

It's a true sign of the state of friendship when the cost of driving as calculated by your inaccurate perception of time is worth more than the time you will get with your friend. Then again, I'm unwilling to walk the miles required when clearly I can, so I must be a bad friend too.

Perhaps you are to me what I am to you - a name on your buddylist that you never contact, nothing more than a set of memories and an unused digital line.

Ok, enough of all that. I'm starting to become something that annoys me in others.


So! A bug blindsided me on his way to my lamp. Given that they have now had twenty years to learn, insects should know by now that they're all right if they are in their territory, and I am in mine. I certainly accept that should I tread in woods or outdoors anywhere for that matter, I'll be bitten/stabbed/landed on/etc. Therefore, they should accept that if I see them inside the house, I will do my damned best to squish 'em.

So anyway, this flying insect commits a terrible tactical error and hits me as he's going where he is going. I responded by smushing him with a sample of Armored Protection countertop (color: Celestial, surface: Textured, Gloss Also Available). He in turn splurted on the back of my little countertop sample. And in retaliation, I wiped him off and threw his body away - no proper toilet funeral for you, little buddy!

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