Train of Something

I watched Mr. & Mrs. White's kids tonight, which was enjoyable considering I technically supervised them for all of two hours before they went to bed. I read a lot of On the Road -- I'm feeling all introspective and shit as a result. Weird. Uncomfortable.

I sort of feel like I've been on the wrong path -- not for terribly long or anything -- and the thought of effort involved in the return trip has me shuddering left and and right. It's hard to explain. Impossible probably. These thoughts are not wordy enough to make sense outside of my head.

There are these bazaar surreal phrases penned by Jack Kerouac that are really summing me up a lot lately. The way he describes the electricty of the night and this and that. I wish I could do that kind of thing with words. There are all sorts of things I'm reading that are things I've been trying to articulate for a long time. I'm glad somebody said it at least even if it's depressing to read it in someone elses book.