The Price of Peace

Back to Milwaukee. A secret visit sans friends. It's all family this time. And to recoop by my lonesome via Stephen King and Corona Extra.

I tend to find that I gain a large headache by the time I leave Milwaukee after trips there. Either it's from stress, or it's from being dehydrated by too much coffee and beer. Milwaukee also tends to be a place of respite, if I sought it out. If not, if people know I'm there, the phone rings 24/7 to go out to bars I feel so out of place in.

I don't mean to be rude to my friends. I need to be nice to myself. I just want to read.

Most of the time that doesn't happen. The family is all over the place, in my room, through the sunroom, the porch, etc. Milwaukee is a last resort to free peace and quiet.

So that leaves me with this thought: in order to have peace and quiet I'll have to cough up $50 to stay at a fucking motel?! Go camping?! That's a hassle in itself. It takes hard work to have peace of mind. You have to seek it in this day and age. It never just comes to you.

You need to travel hundreds of miles. You stop at a Kwik Stop. "So, eh, where you goin' buddy?" the attendant asks. You answer, "Peace and Quiet."

He shakes his head. "I've never found it, man. But good luck."

There's also the saying that peace is within. But the literature will tell you that to reach peace of mind, you must travel thousands of miles within your brain to find it.

Thousands of miles.

Shit, I'll settle for the Motel 6 down the street . . .

Health -- "Die Slow"