Paring down, excavating, and cultivating, with no plan on the horizon and a slowly shifting psychic landscape.
Scratch that. Make that a blur of a shifting landscape out the window of an airplane flying too fast to be in a holding pattern with no immediately clear destination; and in this dream of memories happening before the events remembered, a friend gave me a ticket and I forgot to ask where it was for. And then I asked, and she said we haven't decided yet, but California fell into the ocean so we probably should vote. We're just in coach so our votes don't really matter that much but let's think about it anyways. And we are sitting and thinking about where we would go, driving without current licenses in unregistered vehicles in tandem, circling around rural areas trying to get back to work and it is already 6 p.m. and it is hard to remember which direction the last leg of the commute was and I headed east by mistake and lost her again, and am in Yosemite and can't afford the entrance fee, so I loiter and place a call to try to figure out where to go now, it was an honest mistake but not a very convincing one. Thought this could never happen. I remembered so differently.
I thought you said California was gone. Oh No that was just a holding pattern.