My contacts survived the week and a half in the dry dry north, perhaps thanks to a frequent application of eyedrops. Evenings without vision were bad enough; I'd prefer not to consider how bad it would have been to be practically blind for multiple days. Uncorrected, I can see well enough not to walk into things, mostly, and I can read on my phone more or less. (Reading on the iPad Mini doesn't work well because it's too big. I can't both see the entire width of the screen and have it be in focus.)
There's a sense of dislocation that comes on me when I'm flying. I don't feel like I'm going to or from anywhere, most times, there's no sense of motion. If it's daytime and I've a window seat and it's not overcast then the ground rushing past can keep me anchored, but this flight I got the tail end of a sunset through thick clouds. Still felt unanchored until sometime Monday morning. Maybe I still do, a bit. Yesterday was blue, like smoke.
The only Tom Petty album I ever owned was his Greatest Hits (I listened to Wildflowers and She's The One a few times but they didn't really stick), but I played the hell out of that CD. Fantastic road-trip music. And "Don't Come Around Here No More"
has long been one of my favourite music videos. I think back in college Jonathan had a Tom Petty video collection, on VHS, with that and "Into the Great Wide Open" and "Mary Jane's Last Dance" and the weirdly post-apocalyptic-sci-fi "You Got Lucky
". Rewatching that one now, the wardrobes have a deeply contemporary aesthetic. Or maybe it's just that I've seen Into the Badlands and Mad Max and the trailer for The Dark Tower recentlyish. So it goes.
Disjointed, dislocated, disconnected. Drifty. It's a glorious green-gold autumn in the north; down here the trees are starting to fade to dirty brown. I miss Appalachian fall. I'd contemplated going to visit Blacksburg this October. Maybe next year.
We cross our bridges as we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our passage except a dim memory of the smell of smoke and a presumption that once our eyes watered.