corridor 40



   Doctor: WHO? ME? I’M CALM!!!!!

   He yelled down the hall while looking for some clothes. He roamed the corridors for good 40 minutes before entering a room. You only caught a glimpse of him. He was tall - taller than before.His hair changed. But everything happened so suddenly you couldn’t take a proper look. You looked around and examined the T.A.R.D.I.S. It was like she had a whole different character.

   Doctor: So Y/N…

   His voice was soft, and you could recognize the Doctors tone everywhere. Even within a different voice. You turned around to see a floppy haired man in the Doctor’s suit.

   Doctor: How do I look?    ‘

Day 30

Today has definitely been a day of contemplation.  My first and hardest issue is: “why the hell did I drink so much beer at Standing Bear?!?” I walked mostly uphill today to get out of the I-40 corridor. It was hard.  I was dehydrated and couldn’t get enough calories. I’ve heard a lot of people tell me that they’re jealous of what I’m doing. They wish that they could do something similar. On days like today I am amused at how akin it is to normal life. Poor decisions based in revelry still result in a long and arduous work day; whether that work day is a factory job or walking up a damn mountain.  Please do not misunderstand, I do not consider what I do a “job”. I do not walk to pay the bills. I do so because I find bliss in it, but that does not mean that it is not work. A very arduous 9.8 miles today.


Farm Shamble
April 10th, 2015
Wharton, TX

“Have you seen the two-hundred-foot-long billboards in the country beyond town? Did you know that once billboards were only twenty feet long? But cars started rushing by so quickly they had to stretch the advertising out so it would last.”

Clarisse was right. Long before there was a divided interstate corridor 40 yards from the front porch, this was someone’s home. But today, we rush by, once focused on the dirt road ahead, then the stripes blurring beside us, and on to obnoxious billboards and now distracting texts.

For years, a farming family, probably with too many mouths to feed, was raised in this modest home in the middle of a land plot bigger than some cities. But slowly, change creeped in. Furrow by furrow, the farm shrank. The pressure of progress began to implode the walls and the rush of the interstate shorn the shingles from its very roof–long gone in a dust storm of change.

Drive slow. Roll down the windows. Put down your phone. Take the long way. Think of the seeds that were sewn here long before you paved your way.