On the Road again, again. . .

No sleep.

It’s going on 10 days now that I haven’t had a real night’s sleep. Two nights out late with Ingrun/Mikey – then up early. Two nights on the couch at TR's. Comfortable but hot. One night on Oliver’s couch at Wonder Hut, then two on his couch ad Judy’s. Then, as if by demotion, two nights on the floor at Jeb’s house in Cleveland – on my comfortable stretching mat, but the floor none the less, sleeplessness compounded by treadmill being on the floor, pound pound pound early in the morning. Finally, I thought, Motel 6, West Des Moines. Home sweet home. But alas, my room had the smell of fat housekeeper B.O. with that body powder type of fat woman smell. Not so bad except in the bathroom. Kept the window open at night to air it out, but that was the freak, early Fall day, 49 degrees, freezing, fasting, couldn’t sleep, almost got sick, body does not want to contract that much that quickly from the summer to handle the cold, especially probably won’t last too much longer, don’t hunker down for winter season yet. So didn’t sleep too well in Iowa.

It’s now 6:45 AM in Cheyenne. Motel 6 here located right by the railroad tracks. RIGHT by the railroad tracks. Don’t know how it happens that the trains never go by until after you’ve checked into your room. Maybe they’ve got some kind of system worked out with Pacific Rail or maybe it’s just the lost Murphy’s Law or in the Dead Sea Scrolls or something. By 9pm it was going every hour, whistle pressed into my stomach like the guy on the Maxell commercial. Then I found that they go the other way too and it was every half hour. By 5 thus morning it was every 20 minutes, don’t know how they have room for all those trains, but again I got no sleep.

As it turns out, I don’t need that much sleep, really- raw foodists can get by with a lot less than normal people. But for me, sleep is where I integrate what I’ve learned from the day. My brain waves can slow so that things connect more quickly without the interference of the mind, preoccupied during the day with survival and navigation. It is said that for those of us with our Suns in the 12th house that sleep time can be more real than awake time. I’m not sure if I feel that way, but I would say that it’s at least equally as productive in terms of what’s important to me now. It’s as if I can make just so many connections in my brain that need to be digested that without a full night’s sleep there’s an annoying, frustrating backlog, and I can’t get on with the day. So going without sleep is no fun, and any inherent grouchiness I have is amplified manifold without it.

I’ll sleep in the car this afternoon when I’m away from the tracks. Remind me to tell you the story of the train tracks in Flagstaff. Don’t know why but wasn’t up to a repeat of that experience, good as it was. Maybe I’ve just caught a wave of sleeplessness and I’m just riding it til it’s over and I can catch up for the whole month.

So much has happened, really, it’s a shame just to talk about sleep. Let’s see if I can hit some of the highlights.

Wonder Hut. Oliver has been going out to Long Island for some 25 years now and has invited me out to come see his cabin for the past several. Well I finally made it out and I’m thoroughly glad I did. He and Judy have found this spot in Amagansett that must be the last remaining plot of forresty wilderness on Long Island. Being there you would have no idea that just down the road, the ueber-yuppies would be chowing down at cittanuova or paying 14 dollars for a carton of blackberries at the farmer’s market. No, tucked away in a little corner of a dirt road is their little hut, decorated perfectly, the way the prissiest Bed & Breakfasts night decorate if only they weren’t so prissy. Oliver treated me to some of his famous oatmeal al dente as I sat in marvel of the many trinkets and decorations that gave Wonder Hut its indescribably charming décor. Amazing.

My Wonder Hut visit was at the tail end of a longer trip to Long Island which started at TR's place in East Hampton. Right on the Bay, quiet and tucked away from the socialites (it felt), TR's place is the perfect getaway for the slightly less rugged. We had an excellent sailing (floating, mostly) trip in the Bay in which we discovered new lands, learned about pirates, and decided it would be better to be Mayor of a small town in Northern California than to settle the new lands and become Emperor of Daveland- at least that was my conclusion. The highlight of the trip was the discussion we had at TR's apartment two days later in Greenwich Village about Southern women and tying up loose ends. Oh, and Kill Bill. More later.

So the trip out west was sort of a trip out East first, kind of like how they launched the Mars probe towards Venus first so that they can use its gravitational field to propel it towards the outer solar system. Nothing can propel you faster towards California than four days in the Hamptons (just kidding). The drive to Cleveland was pleasant. During my two days there I must have sucked down a dozen green juices from Wild Oats. Delicious. Jeb had made these freezer brownies and different raw ice creams to try. Very yummy, but they definitely increase the yeast in your system. That may be the cause of the gassiness, JB.

Met Jeb’s father, who is a remarkably kind man. He’s from New Ulm Minnesota, which is maybe a 6 point type on the map rather than a 4 point, to give you an idea of its population. We watched the President presiding and the rest of the chatterers chattering about how there’s nothing to do in Iraq, like everybody said would happen 5 years ago, except so what? Vindication is not that rewarding, and it must be hard to be Paul Krugman.

In Omaha I had a too short tea with K. at the tea place near Wild Oats (more juice there too). We had quite the time selecting from the dozens of teas at the shop. The lady there was very tolerant of our prolonged deliberating and she actually gave me a free cup of Pu-Er tea to go. Sweet. Seeing K. was wonderful. It’s been a few years, but it’s funny and pleasantly disconcerting how some things don’t change.

The rest of the drive to Cheyenne was good. Lots of mulling and fantastic insights and realizations. I don’t know if they’re hidden in the road somewhere and you collect them along the way or if the road is just the fertile soil that generates imaginal life as the ground generates all the trees and the flowers.

Fuck that train is loud. I gotta go.

I’ve been fasting for about two days now, but I’ll be passing through Salt Lake again, and I don’t know if I can resist a helping of Omar’s Taboulueh. Think I’ll make an exception. . .