I am displaced into Little Rock, Arkansas. My current place of residence is not unpleasant. The pain in my chest is, however.
I left Lisa’s this morning a little before eight. I was eager to get back on the road. The road has always beckoned, be it by air, land (in this case, my truck) or thought (unfortunately the most common case). I enjoyed the drive. It was freedom. I felt alive. I crossed Tenessee and listened to Amarok. I was momentarily brought back to 2006. It always amazes me how, though I don’t know how the piece of music progresses consciously, my unconscious mind always knows beforehand where the music shall lead. It was impressed there long ago, like how the movements on the neck of a cello are impressed on its player.
A program on NPR talked about similar ideas.
I lost control of my truck on a bridge on I-40 outside of Little Rock. That is why I am in this hotel. The front end of the vehicle is smashed. Tomorrow, I shall discover if it can be repaired. The airbag smashed into my chest with a lesser force than the truck smashing into the concrete barrier separating all things speeding over the ice from the railroad tracks below.
