Postscript

I'm sitting here in an office, next to my window on the first floor. Nothing I see outside isn't manmade, other than the snow. I'm bored, and a little morose. it could be the music I'm listening to, or it could be the gloomy weather, but part of me has suddenly realized that full time work is a self-feeding trap. I enjoy what I do, and I hope to continue, but it's really draining. And it only pays for itself. There are always ways to disappear more money.
I wish I could go back in time and spend one more day on the road, travelling through uncharted territory, perhaps at the same mad pace, but in one more direction. I'd like to have one more summer day permanently burned into my memory on some backroad I'd decided to take only because it was unknown. I'd like to go back to the time when I could go across the country, trailer in tow, friends and family ahead and behind, knowing that when my adventure was done, I could disappear again into their waiting arms.
Behind the cage that protects the broken computers from the people outside, I'm sitting, waiting for the sun to come out---waiting for the weather to change, waiting for some kind of freedom---good or bad---to reawaken, or return, or at least reemerge in my memory. Living your life in the past is foolish. But when the future is uninteresting...the past is a nice place to fall back to.