So after the Pacific Ocean (and all the National Parks plus Colorado along the southern part of our route), Sara and I decided we were sick of the midlands and wanted to be by the water again. Three days and about that many thousands of miles later, I’m writing from Savannah—in Georgia—on the East (aka the right) Coast. We struck through Kansas, Oklahoma, and Alabama in a matter of days on the Interstates.
Since leaving California I’ve had the distinctly uncomfortable perception that I’m in the “deep South.” Georgia is no different, though Savannah is the current residence of a friend of Sara’s so I don’t mind staying for a while. Soon, however, we’ll head northwards and work our way up the coast. We’ve extended the dates of our trip ’til the seventh of November so the time crunch which bore upon us heavily back in Colorado no longer feels very near.
I am missing home more and more these days—by home I mean more the feeling of a routine, an available social life, and time to work on personal projects than I mean the apartment I can hardly afford in New York City; physical location is not much of a concern anymore—and I am anxious to leave the seat of the car whenever I can. As big and grand and wonderful as this trip has been, it’s beginning to feel as if I’ve put my whole life in some sort of suspended animation and I’d like, now, to reanimate it. It, and all of its momentum I had been building for it last year.