maps.

I wrote this last night in my notebook.

"Right now I'm sitting in the b-machine, and we're looking out over a snowy lake together. I vaguely know where I am; it seemed like a good idea to find something I've never seen before. I've only decided to pull over because the roads are getting fairly ugly, and I'm getting fairly heavy in my thoughts. I may be talented, but I'm not talented enough to write and drive.

It's so quiet out here. I think I may have finally found that one park that burnt four summers ago, because all the trees out here are just skeletons of themselves; black and white paintings in the snow.

I've passed two world-class wineries and a place for those with an affinity for artisan goat cheeses. It's beautiful here; it really is. It's just not my kind of beautiful.

This is what I do when I feel like this. I get in the car, and I go. I've wasted countless hours and gallons of gasoline, just driving around, listening to the same CDs loop endlessly. I'm trying to find myself, I suppose. It's like, maybe if I drive far enough or for long enough, all the answers will find me. Or, at least that's the hope.

The real truth is that I don't think I'll ever know that I'm looking for. I'm like that one shitty U2 song. Actually, that statement can be applied to all U2 songs, so let's just disregard it permanently. I'm losing my touch.

I'm going to turn the car back on now, and when I do, I know exactly what song will start playing. I know exactly where I'm turning the car on to go to. And after I go there, I know exactly what I'm doing for the rest of the night, the rest of the week, and for the rest of the month. Probably the rest of my life.

Isn't that horrible?"

Save me from mediocrity.