Well, I did go to Wisconsin this morning. Left here at 4:30 and got back at exactly 9:30, 230 miles in 5 hours. But I didn’t feel worn out. I was alert the whole time. Beautiful sunrise this morning.
I was glad, I was celebratory this morning. I did it! Why? asked those I volunteered my tale to. Because it was there—I had nothing better to do.
It is kinda odd and funny. I felt dishonest about driving up their driveway and not stopping, but they weren’t up, and I wasn’t going to knock on any door at 7 a.m.
Not sure what I expected, but I don’t think I found it. Somehow Wisconsin is supposed to be exotic—at least different from Illinois. But it didn’t seem so. There are more hills, more farms, less people—much prettier than around here. But I could now place myself in one of these towns and see that it would be as dull here as at home. I couldn’t escape that responsibility this time—didn’t allow my fantasy of the Good Life in Wisconsin to flourish. Life seems as hard there as here. Different to some degree, but not exactly what I’m looking for, either.
[24 July 1994, 3:50 p.m., Journal 7, page 23]
MonkeyMoonMachine 