A very long, lonely month between Massachusetts and Florida.

I just logged onto my own blog (this one) and noticed the date of my last posting. April 27? That was one month ago!
It's apparent; I've been caught up in the rat race and lost focus on what the mission at hand.
The thought crosses my mind at times to just go away and drift for several months. Meeting total strangers and listening to their stories makes me happy. Punching a timeclock would prove to be suicidal.
I am thankful for the people who get on the proverbial teadmill from 7-3:30 on Monday through Friday to provide for themselves and family members. Building up a retirement fund is exactly what we are trained to do from the moment our parents begin handing us an allowance. But, how many meanings are there for that word? Allowance?

I hope, above all, they do not feel like lab rats.

I punched many timeclocks from time to time and apparently didn't have a problem with the current lifestyle. I found nothing wrong with it, other than the fact that I eventually discovered I did not fit in. More and more, I became an outsider. My focus went blurry and I must have stepped on my rose colored glasses.

Anyway, I am sitting in Boston's Logan Airport. My bus is scheduled to pick me and a number of other passengers up and deliver us to a ferry dock on Cape Cod. There, we will board the vessel and watch kids run around and scream as if they just received a red koolade IV. There are rules against this activity, but the parents don't care. "They're just kids!" Right?
I don't really have a choice. If I want to get to the Storybook Island, I must put up with this or risk jail time for throwing these horrible kids and their worthless parents overboard just as we pass the rocks where the cute baby seals sun themselves.
So, where's my Freedom? Freedom to enjoy life without such violations of my sanity has eluded me.
I'm just kidding.
The understanding of our surroundings and how to cope with all the junk thrown at us is an acquired talent.
I woke up in my childhood bedroom, this morning, in Florida. I miss that address already.
I spent a great deal of the past 4 days just catching up with life in my hometown. Some of it was good, some great and some was filled with drama just like it was 1988 all over again. The rest of my time was spent attacking Mozi with various tools and detailed examination of the insides of her motor and transmission.
She needs serious TLC and I will give it to her.
With about 10,000 more miles to go before completing this trip, book and film, I can't take any more foolish chances. Mozi will soon have a new pair of heads, new exhaust pipes, mufflers, rear shocks, dash board and wiring.
So we can,
Mozi on...
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