The Dream about the Road (Daily Planet email #1037)

I had a Great Aunt who would always say, “If you don’t like where you’re headed, change where you’re at.” Now everybody knows this is a company town, and whether you’re leaning lonesome on that ol’ dust bowl fence or strolling with your beau on a hot sparkly night, you’re still on Jack Warner’s beat and you’d best fly right — right where he can keep an eye on you. It takes a special kind of artistry to loosen the lariat.

It’s like I was telling Linda the other day, you don’t have to stay on this road — you don’t even need to be on a road at all. But she thinks she’s riding in a limousine and looks at me like I’m crazy. “This road is beautiful, there’s nothing wrong with this road. I worked hard to be on this road, why would I stop?” All around her is luxury, so she’s not seeing past the view. As soon as Linda discovers she’s her own vehicle, she can drive herself anywhere. For now we stay in the limo.

We went to a party on the other side of the valley where the veil is thinner and even Jack Warner’s reception is fuzzy. Isn’t it exhausting though? I mean, all of this almost-freedom while still emptying glasses and filling up ears, coloring inside the lines like a pony ride. And I’m sure they thought I was nuts, denying the very room we’re standing in, questioning the timeline and materials of our own construction. “Hey, you gonna find your own way home, or is that when you’ll need our four wheels and an engine?” Sure, point taken.

I’m not saying you have to live your life twelve feet off the ground, scattered on the errant winds. But if you know where the lines are, then you can be fed where there’s food and won’t try to eat the painting. You don’t have to play a character in some stranger’s story, not unless you want to. You can own your own troubles, then do with them what you will. All that, and I’m not insane. I should have some doorstops made up, metaphorical tchotchkes, little things that keep the doors open.