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Friday, December 3, 2021

I'm here back in Bloomington but oh it was a bumpy day.

I've lived in three cities in Indiana and am aware that fixing roads is not on the top 100 hit list for public projects. But driving a 34-foot beast at highway speeds when the truck has two-by-fours for shock absorbers was an experience. 

I might as well have been driving down railroad tracks.

I'm reminded of the advice of the philosopher Michael Jackson: "Shake it, shake it baby."

On the return trip, I'm going to fill containers with ice cream and chocolate syrup and sell them to passersby.

When I finally finished the violent circle of hell that is I-465 around Indianapolis, I stopped for gas. This Mobinante drank gasoline like I drink gin. At this point I topped $200 on the drive down -- empty.

But my debit card -- where I have all my money -- was denied. Two minutes later, I received a recorded message that my card was temporarily denied because of suspicious activity.

Yes, $200 gallons of gas in three states is suspicious. 

Now I faced the thought of getting my stuff back to Wisconsin -- without money.

It's been years since I tried to sell myself for money. That never worked. Given my age and weight, I thought Nueske's could put out a special bacon of aged and smoked pork belly. But not from afar.

I had 33 miles left to Bloomington and made it. I called the emergency number on the card and a helpful attendant in Bali helped me fixed a problem that damned near made me cry. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to cry? I watched "Old Yeller," and I was like, yeah, screw him.

I'm pretty calm but money problems are the switch to my 200-watt anxiety.

I had to check into one of the hotels that had been my home for months during my troubles. The owner knew me right away. "You were in 109 -- I remember you." I asked on his uncle and his daughter and they were all fine. He have me a special rate on a king-sized bed for $72 a night. Sometimes a special is more special.

I had to call my friend who let me store my junk in his garage for what seemed like years. We met out with his girlfriend. Another friend at a local restaurant put us outside on the Kirkwood in a geodesic plastic dome called "the igloo" for dinner. The bar manager bought me a drink and promised to meet later this week to catch up.

Certainly there have been struggles during the troubles yet I remain the luckiest man on the face of the earth.

Lou Gehrig can kiss my ass.

Peace and love unto all of you my brothers and sisters.

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