Who was this Steve King? Was he legit? Creepy? Serial killer? He could have been all or none of the above, but he seemed pretty normal to me. He had very kind eyes and he wore Carhartts and rode one of those funny, tiny bikes that fold up (so he can fit it in his tiny plane, duh). We met at a mall in Raleigh, then went downtown to find a restaurant near the Amtrak station for dinner. I had trout, he had steak, we both drank beers. He's 45, lived on both east and west coasts, but his heart is really out west. Two boys, 9th and 10th grade, a wife and I sensed the tiniest bit of cynicism in his manner. Anyways, dinner was lovely, we agreed to stay in touch and he dropped me at the station and I went along my merry way. Down the yellow brick road...
And to a magical place they call Orlando. Since arriving in Orlando yesterday I have heard more Avril Lavigne songs than I have in the past 365 days of my life, its weird. Besides that, it's been great to see my aunt, it's always so relaxing to come down here. Weather has been warm, not necessarily sunny, but the warmth makes your bones work better and just makes you feel lighter. I might be watching too much History Channel, but what's a girl to do?
It's been almost two months since I've been on the road that I'll call my own. A Dream. The things I can now call my own seem like they shouldn't be, but at least they last forever, like Styrofoam. Except mine aren't squeaky and synthetic by any means. I've got all this real stuff swimming around the channels of my brain and saturated in my heart. Thank you, World.
Now it's time to come home. I head to Jersey on Monday, then to the city for the weekend. When most of you see me, I'll be 22. I'll still have blonde hair and blue eyes, but hopefully there will be some extra twinkle and shine.
So much love and plenty of light.
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