And now I don't know what to say. The past week I've been considering angles, thinking of things I'd like to share either about the job itself or the fact that I'm quitting. Just now, on the drive up here to Chicago I had a spiel mapped out, but it's all evaporated.
I'd been traveling in silence since hitting the hinterlands, the radio desert between Lafayette and Gary. Oh, it's not like West Texas were there literally are no stations. There are plenty of radio stations, but none of them come in clearly, for very long, unless they're proclaiming the power of Jesus. He's got one hell of a transmitter out there!
I hadn't noticed the silence. I'm used to the sound of my own head, an engine and wheels over pavement. I realized that I was long out of the acoustic doldrums as I exited the Dan Ryan onto Lake Shore Drive. I tuned in WXRT playing some funky old blues just in time to ROCK OUT through the big city. It was awesome.
I sound like a Driver don't I? Well, I was one, for twelve and a half years. Today was my last day. Not that I won't drive for a living again. I mean, what else am I going to do at 54 years of age in a technologized un-humanistic era, be an artist? I'm used to a "median income," as humble as that turned out to be. I have bills! But I'm going to hold out as long as I can.
So is this a seminal moment, or merely an interlude? Probably the latter, but it sure as hell will be nice not to live life on the damn highway, for awhile anyway. Let's see if I can make it to March before I disappear again into a cloud of diesel exhaust.
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