I am reading Kerouac, On the Road. No, I have never read it before. Just like I haven't read Chaucer or Milton and I still have a degree in English Literature - go figure.
Reading this book reminds of a time long ago when I stood on a balcony overlooking Las Vegas. It was a difficult, tiring, transitional, rapidly changing, confusing and painful time of my life. And I remember thinking that I could go home, pack a few things, put the dogs in the car and make a new life in Las Vegas. I never did that - and I am glad I didn't - but I think it was important for me to see that I could and would have a new life.
This was around the same time that a dear friend, who was going through the same sort of time in her life, and I would talk about a road trip across the desert to Vegas - in a Cadillac with suicide doors.
What is it about Vegas? I think it is because it is so surreal it seems like the place to lose oneself and find oneself. It is always changing and in flux so it seems like the place to be when one finds oneself changing and in flux. Maybe it is the sense that the desert will strip away all that is unnecessary and leave only the elemental and the essential.
Now, I think I'd rather take a road trip here or here. But I don't think I'm going anywhere for a while.
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2 comments:
I'm still happy to head across the desert in a suicide caddy. The boys can have the backseat!
Hi Heidi!
I KNEW I would spaz on remembering the name of your blog, arrgh. Sorry about that.
I have never read any Jane Austin. Someday a pack of rabid book clubbers are going to hunt me down and take away my female license for that one.
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