"You have to leave the ground to learn to fly."

    Well, gents.  I'm in love.  It's official.  That unnamed man I mentioned yesterday, the man with whom I'm going to settle down?  Well, I met him today.  We're going to get married, buy ourselves a farm in West Virginia, have six kids, go to church together every Sunday, and live happily ever after for the rest of eternity.

    His name is Gino.  He's in the CCC, building a national park for FDR.  Oh, right, and he's fictional.  I can't find an adequate picture of him from the show, so you'll just have to use your imagination, I guess.  

    But he stayed with the Waltons for a couple days after he sprained his ankle in their woods (while in a knife fight with John Boy, beeteedubs) and he was all defensive and aloof, but then when Elizabeth's raccoon, Pete died, he was very sensitive and understanding, trying to explain death to her in a way she could understand, even though, throughout the entire episode, he acted like he didn't care about her.  

    I don't know...he was inspiring.  A very cheesy, over-used character, fo shiz, but...I don't know.  Something about his hermit-like existence...it got to me.  Anyway, moving on.  Quickly.

    I've found my new favorite hobby.  Sadly, it's going to be short-lived under the circumstances, but I suppose that's a good thing, too.  See, I was driving my friend home tonight after he hung out at my house for a bit, playing the video games, you know, and as I turned the corner to return home, Lay it On Me came on my CD (a song that, if you're observant or friendly, you will have noticed is one of my favorites right now).  I had this long open, dark road in front of me, but as the song ripped away at my speakers, I felt the road was not long enough, so I continued past my street on into the night.

     I'm addicted.

    To this.  

    It's bad for the environment to use that much gas, I know, and my mom was waiting up for me, and we're giving Cameron (my car) away to a charity since his plates expire at the end of the month, and I love driving fast, which is desperately unsafe at night in the suburbs (all the ridiculous I'm-cool-because-I-haven't-fallen-asleep-yet youngsters running rampant and such, you know how it is) but I can't help it.  Long stretches of almost-empty road, the cool, humid air whistling past the just-open-enough windows, the disapproving looks from older drivers at stoplights when they feel my base pumping the cement around us...it's what I imagine to be intoxicating.

    You know that there are just some situations in which you find yourself where you feel like if you leave voluntarily, you'll miss something huge, life-changing, momentous, or in some way important.  Certain songs play, and you feel like they have a destiny, like they belong in a special place or time, like only on the road, or only when you're reading, or only when you're lonely and would rather burrow into the deepest, loneliest part of yourself than try to face the deeper places outside.  Feelings, both sensory and emotional, wash over you, and suddenly every nerve in your skin feels raw, like every brush of air stings wounds that have never really healed.  That's what the drive felt like to me tonight.  I drove for more miles than I dared, but fewer than I would have liked to.

    And it hurt to stop, but I did.  After several Paramore songs and All Over You, to name a few, I finally pulled into my driveway and begrudgingly turned the key in the ignition.  And a little part of me died.

    I've only got four days left with my car.  It makes me want to cry.  No joke.  

    But Gino will get me through it, I'm sure.

<3 spadeALLcross