Suzanna Danna

3/4/10 I am in the air somewhere, am guessing over Oklahoma. "Crash Into Me" by Dave Matthews band is playing through the earbuds and my iPod and I am on my way to Green Bay for the annual Weetacon. We just crossed over a particularly deserted part of the landscape and for an odd reason I felt the prick of tears threatening at the back of my eyes. The throat tightening, and the fear that I would startle the elderly woman sitting next to me if I were to burst into sobs and couldn't tell her what exactly (if anything) was wrong, were she to ask.

Happy tears? Sure. I am headed to spend four days with my chosen family, my tribe and I feel (yes, I am a sap) particularly blessed to be a part of this group. And yes, I will regale you with tales and linkity links when I get back.

But is that the only reason?

Wander lust tugging at my internal make up? Maybe. The urge to just run and start my life over (I am pretty sure that the "Lucky Penny"* post gave away a little bit of that mindset)... Yep. A few months ago I startled myself by driving North along on 75 (Central) Expressway and thinking, "What if I just kept going?". I called Mister and the exchange went like this:
Me: hi
Mister: hi back
Me: I am on 75 on the way back from the doctor and this though occurred to me...
Mister: what thought?
Me: what if I just kept going?
Mister: well, how long does it take to get to Oklahoma City?
Me: a little over three hours.
Mister: and after that?
Me: Kansas, in another three hours or so to Salinas.
Mister: so..... You'd be in Kansas by the time I got home from work.
Me: um, yes.
Mister: okay
Me: ...

So, there's that then.

Could it be just a general sense of maliase? Let's go with that.

Random, odd things are making me cry more and more lately. Ever since I dropped my basket a few months I have been delicate as a butterfly wing. And here's the fucked up part. RIGHT NOW is when I am supposed to be the strongest. Lessee.... Um, nope. Not happening.

I typed the above on my blackberry “notes” section on Thursday, last week. I was on my way to something I look forward to every year and I rend flesh and wail and gnash teeth when I don’t get to go. (See January of 2008.) It was wild, it was wonderful, it was a crazy and beautiful time. I hugged, got hugged upon, laughed, almost cried, drank A LOT, wrestled in the snow, got hit on by a 30 year old Frat Boy (the term motorboat was used… Seriously.), ate poorly, used (to the utmost ability) the restorative powers of the St. Brendan’s Bloody Mary**, not once… not twice… Okay, I can’t remember how many times exactly, but a couple of times. I slept well, I bunked with a fellow Weetacon-er well (she really doesn’t snore that loudly… I promise), I got kissed on the face and the lips more times that I can count, saw many boobs, giggled until I snorted, named a woman Bruce, wore a dress that showed more cleavage that I have EVER worn (I wore a tank top under a corset on Halloween… because I am prude… and yella), had an Out-Southerning at the Bad Bar complete with neck wobbling and “YOU NEED TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR BABIES!”, gave away shoes, bought shoes, received a pair of shoes and I promise that I will come back in the next few days (or whatever) to give you all of the details that I can.

To those of you who were there, you know who you are, you know I love you and that I can’t wait to do it all over again, and none too soon.

PS.. I am SO off my freaking game it is insane.

*Sorry this made you cry Mary. I love you.
**The St.B’s Bloody Mary has a stick of olives, a pickle, a lemon, a lime, a cheese stick and a fucking meat stick. They are certifiable meals in a schooner (with a Spotted Cow beer chaser)… FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY.