(Subject line is a reference to the title of the aisle where you can get miniature bottles of shampoo at Wal-Mart.)
I am in a Sleep Inn in Princeton, West Virginia, drinking Sleepy Time tea that tastes a little like the coffee the last guest made in the coffee pot (which, yes, I did try to clean out before using). I drove up here this afternoon, by myself, and now I’ve showered and am ready to relax. I’m used to flying alone, but this is the first time I’ve stayed in a hotel by myself. I ate dinner at Cracker Barrel, which was another first (eating at a sit-down restaurant alone). I tend to gravitate toward fast food when I’m traveling by myself, but I just couldn’t tolerate that idea tonight, and some comfort food sounded nice. It’s amazing how different it is eating alone–the service is so quick! I was in, fed, and out in under a half hour. My waiter took my order less than a minute after I had sat down, and my food was out in no more than a few minutes, which sort of spoiled the “down home cooking” bit for me, since my mother never made meatloaf that fast. But hey, it was warm, it was delicious, and I cleaned my plate. After a quick trip to Wal-Mart for some tea and honey, I was back in my room in no time.
The drive from Wilmington was nice, a little rainy here and there, but relatively little traffic. Except there was one yellow Chevy car with a license plate that read “Mushy” that wouldn’t let me in when I was trying to change lanes so as not to miss my exit. I later realized Mushy was following a red truck, so I’m guessing she couldn’t handle the idea that one car might get in between them. An obvious tragedy that would have been. I spent the drive listening to the audiobook A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby, which is funny, involving British accents and attempted suicides, but at the halfway point, where I left off, is dragging a bit.
The mountains were hazy and looked like ghosts today, which put me in a contemplative mood. I’m here chasing ghosts, basically, and everything seems tied to mortality. It’s strange to come to this state–it feels like a homecoming, but at the same time a home-leaving too. I wish Jesse were here. I’m continuously curious as to why exactly we don’t live in the mountains. Both of us love mountains and are fairly indifferent to beaches. But we always find ourselves in beach towns. How does this happen?
Enough rambling for tonight. I’m going to review my questions for my interview tomorrow (Dr. Stuart McGehee, who is basically involved in every aspect of WV history possible, at the Eastern Regional Coal Archives) and then I’m going to sleep.
Good night.
Trial and travel
(Subject line is a reference to the title of the aisle where you can get miniature bottles of shampoo at Wal-Mart.)
I am in a Sleep Inn in Princeton, West Virginia, drinking Sleepy Time tea that tastes a little like the coffee the last guest made in the coffee pot (which, yes, I did try to clean out before using). I drove up here this afternoon, by myself, and now I’ve showered and am ready to relax. I’m used to flying alone, but this is the first time I’ve stayed in a hotel by myself. I ate dinner at Cracker Barrel, which was another first (eating at a sit-down restaurant alone). I tend to gravitate toward fast food when I’m traveling by myself, but I just couldn’t tolerate that idea tonight, and some comfort food sounded nice. It’s amazing how different it is eating alone–the service is so quick! I was in, fed, and out in under a half hour. My waiter took my order less than a minute after I had sat down, and my food was out in no more than a few minutes, which sort of spoiled the “down home cooking” bit for me, since my mother never made meatloaf that fast. But hey, it was warm, it was delicious, and I cleaned my plate. After a quick trip to Wal-Mart for some tea and honey, I was back in my room in no time.
The drive from Wilmington was nice, a little rainy here and there, but relatively little traffic. Except there was one yellow Chevy car with a license plate that read “Mushy” that wouldn’t let me in when I was trying to change lanes so as not to miss my exit. I later realized Mushy was following a red truck, so I’m guessing she couldn’t handle the idea that one car might get in between them. An obvious tragedy that would have been. I spent the drive listening to the audiobook A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby, which is funny, involving British accents and attempted suicides, but at the halfway point, where I left off, is dragging a bit.
The mountains were hazy and looked like ghosts today, which put me in a contemplative mood. I’m here chasing ghosts, basically, and everything seems tied to mortality. It’s strange to come to this state–it feels like a homecoming, but at the same time a home-leaving too. I wish Jesse were here. I’m continuously curious as to why exactly we don’t live in the mountains. Both of us love mountains and are fairly indifferent to beaches. But we always find ourselves in beach towns. How does this happen?
Enough rambling for tonight. I’m going to review my questions for my interview tomorrow (Dr. Stuart McGehee, who is basically involved in every aspect of WV history possible, at the Eastern Regional Coal Archives) and then I’m going to sleep.
Good night.