I feel good now, on my first night in the cabin. I had a sickly sad feeling of uncertainty wash over me on the long drive down the rocky dirt road tonight, but now, here I feel alright. There was the idea of putting all this off, of working here during the day, of whipping this old cabin into living shape, slaving in the sun, cleaning, bleaching, killing mice, and then shutting it up and driving the long way back into Monterrey to wash my clothes, take a hot shower and sleep in a soft bed. Now, it seems, I've stuck my foot into the bear trap, and I'm here, if only for the night, for good. I'm into a mug of dirty bourbon and these cigars that my grandfather used to smoke make the night seem less lonely. I'm feeling a little wild and alone, but generally alright for once in what seems like a very long time. I've taken several steps back from rock shows and crowds and airports and buses, and now all I can hear in a low hum of tinnitus and the paced rush of the creek below. I can make out the faint splashing of animals down for a drink. Dead leaves falling on the porch still make me jump a little, and I'll bet that those four-legged demon bastards will run this place ragged tonight. I'll lay out more snap traps and ammonia in the morning, and hopefully crush a few tiny faces in a mighty spring. The nights, I think, will be the hardest here. Once the sun goes down, and without the measured distractions that electricity can offer I'm alone with my thoughts. Words like purpose and direction mean very little in the woods here. I plan on hiking my days away, and seeing what I can of this amazing place on foot. I'll wear myself out so that sleep comes easy. Hopefully I'll write like I write now with a hand detached from a head, moving along on its own. Here's to solitude. Here's to turning 30 with no place in the world. Here's to Big Sur.
-from sometime in early October.....
