January 11, 2018
Today was one of those days that make Hoosiers who have lived here their whole lives, suddenly sell their houses at a loss and move into a small trailer in a park in the middle of Florida, somewhere locals call "Tornado Alley."
34 degrees, 100 percent humidity. Drizzling, so fine it's almost a fog. The world is gray--inside and out. Soup is the only thing you can eat. Even the idea of a coffee buzz is off-putting. You and everyone you know has a cold and/or the flu. (You didn't get the flu shot because the only year you did, you became sick as a dog.)
Your world is measured out in T's of Tang in boiling water. Hey, when the astronauts got colds, they drank it hot! [Well, maybe not.]
My right front tire was almost flat. I "limped on down the shoulder" to the nearest Marathon station and paid $1.50 for 5 minutes of air . . . wait, let me type that again . . . and paid $1.50 for 5 minutes of air.
I no longer belong to this world. I am a mere traveler, an observer.
$1.50 for 5 minutes of air.
Really.
May as well charged me in euros.
This angst cut me off completely from the natural world, or am I being too melodramatic?
