Marc
Des Moines, IA
Why do I like so much to feel out of place? It is suprising, really, to find myself in such a swanky Marriott hotel in the middle of Iowa. I am surrounded by "suits", so to speak, and I feel as if all of them - bar none, all of them - are giving me this sidelong look, as if I am not allowed here for some reason ... and I love it. Feeling this way puts a smile on my place. I don't know what it is. Maybe it's feeling as if I'm unique - which we all know I'm not. Maybe it's feeling as though I'm better because I'm not them. The possibilities are endless.
My room is on the 9th floor; this is the highest floor. I have to use my key in the elevator to even be allowed up this high in the building. Some suit pushed his floor (4) and some lady pushed hers (5) and then looked back at me as if to say, "Can I push your floor number?" No, ma'am. You can't. I stepped forward commandingly and inserted tab roomkey into slot elevator passcode thingy, pressed my floor number (9) and returned to my slouch at the back of the elevator, Taco John's in hand.
I drove from Chicago, yesterday, straight through to Sioux City, Iowa, on the border between Iowa, North Dakota and South Dakota. I woke up there this morning and felt very out-of-touch with things. My normal routine had been thrown off ever-so-slightly by simply not waking up in my own bed. I remember back when I used to do this job full-time; it felt strange, then, to wake up in my own bed. Hopefully, I'll be waking up in the same living space for many years to come. This traveling junk gets old after a while.
Regardless, though, I'm having fun at the moment. I got through my work schedule for the day, even though I thought it would be impossible. And I've been listening to music alot - especially that new Get Up Kids album. It's good.
Oops. Did I just write that?
Des Moines, IA
Why do I like so much to feel out of place? It is suprising, really, to find myself in such a swanky Marriott hotel in the middle of Iowa. I am surrounded by "suits", so to speak, and I feel as if all of them - bar none, all of them - are giving me this sidelong look, as if I am not allowed here for some reason ... and I love it. Feeling this way puts a smile on my place. I don't know what it is. Maybe it's feeling as if I'm unique - which we all know I'm not. Maybe it's feeling as though I'm better because I'm not them. The possibilities are endless.
My room is on the 9th floor; this is the highest floor. I have to use my key in the elevator to even be allowed up this high in the building. Some suit pushed his floor (4) and some lady pushed hers (5) and then looked back at me as if to say, "Can I push your floor number?" No, ma'am. You can't. I stepped forward commandingly and inserted tab roomkey into slot elevator passcode thingy, pressed my floor number (9) and returned to my slouch at the back of the elevator, Taco John's in hand.
I drove from Chicago, yesterday, straight through to Sioux City, Iowa, on the border between Iowa, North Dakota and South Dakota. I woke up there this morning and felt very out-of-touch with things. My normal routine had been thrown off ever-so-slightly by simply not waking up in my own bed. I remember back when I used to do this job full-time; it felt strange, then, to wake up in my own bed. Hopefully, I'll be waking up in the same living space for many years to come. This traveling junk gets old after a while.
Regardless, though, I'm having fun at the moment. I got through my work schedule for the day, even though I thought it would be impossible. And I've been listening to music alot - especially that new Get Up Kids album. It's good.
Oops. Did I just write that?
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