I don't think of the past. The only thing that matters is the everlasting present.

I haven't written in what appears to be well over three months now and I thought for a time that I would give this up. I'm terrible with maintaining these kinds of things and doubly so this particular journal because the prospect of escape seemed too remote. Every day I finger the dream, roll it around with my tongue and then put it to bed to explore again tomorrow but I get nowhere closer to the goal.

While running away to a foreign land is a somewhat distant prospect still (though we are saving like fiends), I realized this morning that we still travel a great deal and have recently decided that we should visit the last few places in the US that we haven't been before departing for indefiniteness. Though I might have little of international content to report for the time being, I have been yearning to write about the places that I have been, the things that I have seen. In each place that we have lived, I have had the inkling of an idea for a book centered around the people, the ghosts, the structures and the culture as each region is unique from another and I have been unique in those places, reaching into a different part of my soul, welling up as a different caricature of myself to reflect and ultimately survive in my surroundings.

What made me come to this conclusion about this journal, what brought this desire to my attention, was a question that Remy asked me this morning about our last trip. My mind ignored the last three journeys and went all the way back to August when we rode out to Las Vegas in a crowded, pungent bus and then drove home in an overstuffed moving truck. It occurred to me then that our circumstances are unique enough to warrant mention, that our experiences are truly our own, that we travel at the drop of a hat and force ourselves into the unlikliest of places and that even those little weekend trips where we drive 12 hours there and 12 hours back just to say "hello" to a friend, dead or alive, deserve as much mention as longer journeys, that they all speak to who we are, who we are striving to become. They are stages in a sometimes crooked evolution and they need to be chronicled so that one day, when memory no longer serves and we are asked how we came to be in such a place doing such things, we will have a record to prove that we weren't just born from nothing.