Road weary.


Almost seven whole days spent on the road.With barely a moment to myself that didn't involve soap or REM cycles.

The first four days of last week, I was in Baltimore, playing the corporate power girl as I was reeling from the death of my friend and the nebulous resurrection of a relationship I was certain I was ready to leave behind me. Thursday night, I flew back to Chicago, spent a fleeting night in my lonely little bed and left the next morning for Des Moines, where I met my mother and sister for two and a half whirlwind days of shopping, eating, drinking and trying not to kill one another. Only one of them was actually a challenge. Then, last night, I said goodbye and found an outlet for one last iPhone charge at Java Joe's, a quirky old coffee shop with exposed-brick walls and uneven, worn wood floors, until it was time to meet the bus that would take me back to Chicago. At long last. Then I waited. We waited. Fifty of us stood as the skies darkened and the mercury dipped, waited for an hour and a half for a double-decker bus with wireless Internet and power outlets and roomy seats that…never actually came. Instead, we got a cramped, arctic relief motorcoach piloted by a man named Lloyd.

When we finally pulled in two hours late to Union Station, teeth chattering and backs aching, I was surprised to realize I'd brought a little clarity back as souvenirs from my travels. Tacky refrigerator magnets of clarity. Along with all the other baggage I couldn't bear to leave behind.

In the meantime, though, I saw this while scrolling through my Google Reader today:

And all I could think in reading it was, "Dear God. Has this chick ever heard of a semicolon?" And I saw that she had. She'd even used a couple. But it wasn't enough for me. It still looked wrong. A huge block of letters, pushed together to form meaning, and all I could see was little dots and misplaced serifs.

And…this post won't be enough for everyone who's been telling me to write more, either. But I'm so tired. And there's so much going through my head that my emotions and thoughts are such a jumble. So many other things take priority. Blogging does not, as yet, pay the bills.

And suddenly — finally — I realize that too-few-semicolons girl really is doing the best she can with what she has. She's not even working from her own content. It's some online retailer's "manifesto." She's just trying to make those words look beautiful, and share them with her readers. So I'll try to sit back, read it again for actual meaning, and look past the egregious commas.

I'm home now, and the download can begin.