Silent C

Tucson, as far as my ears can tell, is pronounced "too-son." No voiceless velar stop, just a smooth glide through the word. This desert city was awash with heat and light, wave after wave of earth holding still and strewn with cactuses.

There is something mysterious and forboding about such a place. I walked around barefoot in the dusk and hot breeze, wearing sundresses and digging my toes into the ground.

I didn't use to dream. I would fall asleep into a dark tumble of blankets and wake up without anything remarkable to show for it. Medication took off these inner hardcore sunglasses: now I dream, dream vividly, dream unsettlingly, dream in riots of color.

I am not sure that I appreciate this change. My dreams tag along with the rest of my thoughts like yesterday's perfume. I remember them as sketches at best and as a persistent sense of loss at worst.

It is like carrying around unfinished places inside your head.

The desert is dreamlike, and T.S. Eliot's unreal city could well be Tucson. Crumbling and beautiful Tucson.

It also had a seemingly endless supply of places Jack and I could go to get waffles, which is honestly the takeaway here. Banana waffles, peanut butter waffles, waffles named after Marvel superheroes. All the waffles. Between the waffles and the tarantulas, I had a pretty good time.

Jack and I may move there to be with Jack's father in a year or two.

It's nice to be able to see the future again. Questionable dreams aside, medication, I owe you one.

#roadtrip #atleastIneverforgotLauraPalmerskiller