unforeseen circumstances

now playing: jeffrey focault, "miles from the lightning"

highway 222 south was closed since just after lunchtime today until god knows when. traffic was backed up all the way into shillington, six miles away.

needless to say, i missed the train out of lancaster, and won't be able to leave until saturday afternoon. this puts me in chicago sunday morning, and completely under the gun to get back home in time to go to work on monday morning.

am i upset? pissed off?

nah.

LIVID would be a little more accurate.

it probably speaks a great deal to the kind of person that i've become that i felt absolutely nothing about what was going on further up that highway, only anger that i had lost several hours of work and would have my whole weekend jerked around.

that anger was compounded quite a bit when i got further up the road and saw that the accident was apparently in the opposing lane, thirty yards or so separated from the southbound lane that we'd have been travelling in.

there's something to be said for having a fire department staffed with paid professionals, as opposed to good ol' boys who like havin' them there sirens on top of their four wheel drives...here in pennsylvania, that's what we have. overzealous rednecks.

yeah, i'm still pissed.

i came home and went upstairs to take a nap and cool off a bit, but i had limited success, i think. no, it's not logical - anger doesn't often follow a logical path, and there's nothing i could have done to have changed what happened...even if i'd left an hour earlier, i'd still have missed the train.

i'm sure that by tomorrow, i'll be over it, once i'm seated and pulling out. or maybe i'll be over it once i'm back home and this whole lost weekend is behind me.

while i was sleeping, i had this crazy dream that jackson browne was playing on my front porch, taping for a radio show...i came inside and grabbed my weissenborn and started out to sit in with him - he was playing a song i'd never heard before - and some jackass with a bunch of passes on a lanyard around his fat little neck wouldn't let me onto my own porch!

just imagine the indignance....

if that dream came from any specific event of the day, it was finally getting the booking agent from the sellersville theatre on the phone, and finding out he'd given the opening slot for the poco gig to a cover band from the town the theatre is in.

oh, well.

i should get back to work on this book thing...clock's tickin'.