buffalo girl

I’m nearly unpacked. If the Ryder (Not Ryder) truck were still parked outside, I would hug it for being so small. So toy like. So ten foot. I know that I gave it a dirty look or two when I wasn’t able to fit in the coffee table or the microwave or the stereo or the tv… but in the end it all worked out because any more things in my apartment and I’m pretty sure the swing wouldn’t work.

The swing you wonder? YES. The swing. There is a real life, honest to goodness, working swing in my apartment. Hung from the rafters. In the middle of the main room. With a somewhat unconventional furniture arrangement and a good kick start, I can swing until my hearts content without having to endure any dirty looks from impatiently waiting 3rd graders. Nice.

The other reason I’d hug the truck is that it was such a good idea to drive. Oh sure, I thought that perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to drive when the truck was sliding on the ice at the North Dakota border, but the rest of the drive more than made up for it. The 360 miles between Glendive and Bozeman were beautiful. The sky really is bigger in Montana. The horizon seems closer to you and the sky just fills up. It’s uncluttered with billboards and the telephone poles are set far back from the road so you hardly notice them. Everything was golden, just coming out of a winter drought. Lots of Montana looked like it was a hillside in a model railroad. The pine trees and rocks seemed so overwhelming and small at the same time.


The drive went by quickly and we made it into Bozeman before 8. Paul and I split a grilled cheese and French fries at a little diner on main street where the open sign said: “Sorry, we’re open!” I wished out loud that I had had one for the coffee shop. We walked around Bozeman a bit, still tired from the drive and weird morning sleep. We chose the most cowboy of the hotels that we passed and checked into the Western Heritage Inn. There was a stuffed bear in the lobby! And an elk head! The staircase looked like the Brady house! It was a good choice.

I took a much needed shower and Paul went and scored some beer from the neighboring Kum and Go (two in one trip, go figure!) – the day ended drinking beer and making fun of the local news station who when interviewing the newly crowned 2005 Bozeman Chef of the year, called him the 2005 Chief of the Year under his name. We set the alarm, fell asleep talking and laughing and wondering why Bozeman was spelled with a “Z” but Missoula was not.

The next night we’d be in Seattle.

I spent some time at Zeitgeist today. Writing whatever came to mind mostly. Thank god for writing. It’s effortless. A laptop. A pen. A piece of paper. I don’t need to unpack the taped up boxes of art supplies and paint brushes to make something. I think Lisa called my never-ending sentences and overstuffed paragraphs “splash and ping thoughts.” I liked that lots. Here they are. Splash. Ping.

Stiff neck. Feather bed. Still smells like him. Heavy eye lids wanting to sleep still gray weather making for a nice day. Sat in the coffee shop and looked at newspapers. It feels like New York Chicago San Francisco rolled into one. The skyscrapers disappeared into fog this morning. Like a movie. Like a photo. Like a painting. The manhole covers have steam rising from them. White poofs against a city colored background. You can see your breath but it isn’t cold. The same homeless man is curled up in the vestibule each morning as I walk past, long strides, head up, to get coffee from a block away. Tan dirtied wooly blanket covering all but his white grey socks. The sound of drips splashing down from the awning. Car tires in puddles. My feet hitting the wet pavement. Spring came early thanks to a 24 hour drive. The weather is warm. Wet. Swimming. Tames my hair. Makes it fall into soft curls. I want to wear my sunglasses but instead carry my pink flowered umbrella. There are seconds where it feels like home despite the unpacked boxes and unfamiliar faces. Unimpressed uninspired unmoved by where I had been. Uterus in utero, hold on tight. Unicorn underfoot, careful where you step. Unified ultimatum unconditional underclass, watch the hammer, hit, real, slow. Up up up. It goes. Tattooed number. Unidentifiable urchin. They all look the same. Ulcered uncle. You. Know. More. Reach into his head and pull the ideas out. Lost. Boy. Found. Girl. It’s going to be a good year.