Holed up in Brunswick GA. Would have liked to have made other arrangements but the locals warned me off. Seems the gator and snake issue in the area surrounding was extreme.
That left me from Sunday afternoon to Tuesday mid morning to futz and putter aimlessly.
Read a good article this morning about the Maine unemployment rate. Things seem to be booming at a rate not seen since 1976. Sounds like at least landing temp work should be easy.
Fat man on a bus. Aisle sheet next to the shitter is the only seat available for the last two legs. Tried to do a jump last leg, but terminal operator made all of us that were already lined up outside in front of the bus go back IN to the rear of the line.
I placed a couple of hefty curses, one of a voodoo nature on the prick. Hope you enjoy a month of droopy dick, you droopy-dog looking bastard.
It beats walking.
True passive-aggressive people annoyers like me down a fat bowl of chili before a long bus ride. We seem to have hit a tipping point of populace of such rugged individualists on this leg.
Guy a few seats up isn’t breaking wind. He’s shattering it.
WiFi unreliable. Just lost 30 min of this post, about 700 words.
For a brief bit, I’ve decided to return to Maine. Still working out the nagging details of getting a job up there BEFORE I head back. The fun bit is in front of me, knowing that there a potential Gonzo journey ahead ( a few weeks on a bicycle with a weedwhacker engine on it) from Sarasota back to the 207. Sarasota was good, just not the right fit. I’ve also found it difficult to get any writing done. Projects have languished unfinished with looming deadlines. One friend suggested I outline the idea for the trip back and start a kick starter campaign to pay for the bike, motor, a go pro camera and possibly bail. Won’t work: They bounced too many of my projects already. A bail fund does sound like a good idea. After a few days on the road,I tend to get a bit lippy…not a good combo when wearing your house on your back and riding a bike of dubious legality.
]I’ve now been here for three months. A quarter of a year.
I guess I’ve proved my point, that if you are unhappy where you are, pack your bags up and find someplace better. Truth be told, I’m less miserable than I was in Portland. It’s a great city (both of them.)
A few more months of slogging along, and then I’ll have to come to the inevitable decision.
There are opportunities abound, but few of them in the writing field. I could probably land a nice gig running a cleaner somewhere by this point, or land that dream job from Crothall from years back. I could head back to Maine and open my own shop. There is talk of a Hunter S. Thompson “Gonzo” roving film festival coming next year, with someone needed to herd the turtles, keep the worms all in one unopened can, and securely pack the cats in the correct bags.
But the writing…and the lack of it. There lies the problem.
Frankly, the Sarasota Observer never even bothered to respond to my phone calls. The same trend seems to be developing for the Herald Tribune.
I suppose I could expand the travelogue into a short book. At least one frequent reader contacted me to ask for advice, as she is considering taking the leap herself in a few months.
Vexation, thy mirror image is indecision.