Oh right, I'm supposed to write...

Well, that didn't quite work out did it? It will never work out when I spend my Wednesday on the road, trying to make my way back home from having spent over a week in Northern California - working.

Northern California has lost it's shine for me because it's so connected to work. No more leisurely drives - those are now spent worrying that I might have miscalculated the time and I'm not going to get to my destination on time; I didn't account for road closures, damning all road closures to hell - and anxious about getting to my destination. And so, the ride back is always sweeter - even if it is on the 5 highway. I even find myself being okay with the poor, miserable, smelly cows at Coalinga. Does anyone know anyone who lives in Coalinga - and don't count the inmates at the prison, or the cows.

I mean seriously - who in bloody hell lives in Coalinga? Still, I enjoy passing that god-forsaken agribusiness because it tells me I'm that much closer to home.

The ride was uneventful. To add excitement, I decided that I would not stop at my usual pit stops - I'd play this trip a lot riskier and stop at unfamiliar stations, push myself as far as I could go before my legs begged to be stretched - and I'd eat funkier food (this is almost a necessity to stay away on the 5) .

Seven hours, two Jack-in-the-Box ninety nine cent tacos, one zucchini muffin and one large Jamba Peanut Butter Chocolate Moo'd shake later (I don't need no stinkin' health) - I was home sweet home. My bed never looked so good.

For some reason this trip was tougher. I couldn't find my 'zone,' couldn't find good things to think about, or creative threads to ponder, my CD's need to be refreshed - I've even learned the words to most of my Italian songs, the melodies to my Latvanian Kokle folk songs - I scare myself - and the lyrics to Tracy Chapman's Fast Car ('...city lights laid out before us and your arms and legs wrapped roung my shoulders') - years it took for me to get this. All this driving is turning me into a true renaissance woman.

Home now, I notice my plants survived my sisters lack of watering. She swore up and down that she watered them, but a green bush doesn't go from plush to droopy fading yellow in the time frame she had to water my plants - here's another cost I'll have to incur - plant sitting because she won't work with me...

The upshot, because I always try to find the upshot in all my driving and each trip: I didn't eat as much as I thought I was going to eat, and my back held up despite my stupid 'thrill seeking' behavior to push how long I could go before taking a pee or stretch break - next thing you know I'll be doing either Jack Ass stunts on national television, or Extreme sky jumping or some other extreme sport to get my high - that's how wild I felt.

But right now, the couch is looking real good.

My theory of Wednesday

I have a confession to make: I don't have something clever, or even remotely interesting, to write about everyday. There. I said it. Now you know.

Actually, that's not entirely true. I've had to split myself, and my writing efforts, in several schizophrenic directions, that it has not been possible to give time to this blog everyday - or anything remotely close - as I originally planned.

And yet, when it comes to this blog, no amount of reading of our economic Armageddon, no amount of traipsing in my little back yard garden, no amount of watching hummingbirds dash from blossom to blossom, like the rest of us, in search of life giving nectar's, nor digging up grubs or worms that leech off the the roots of plants that are just trying to survive - Not even having to pick up the crap left on my yard by the scavenging, trolling dogs on my street, not unlike the 'you know who's up on wall street, basking in the righteousness of our God-bless-America free market, while leaving their crap for the rest of us to pick up -- none of this has moved me to a story. It's all being said said already. And I'm not one to shout over someone else in a conversation.

So I got to thinking about my theory of Wednesday.

My theory? It goes like this: with the exception of a good lazy Sundays, Wednesday is the best day. It's as if the universe relaxes on Wednesday, and gives me these nice little morsels and tidbits of life, space to look back, while at the same time giving me an opportunity to look forward to what is possible. It's an ideal moment in time. And because it's an ideal moment, I'm really tuned in to all the good stuff, mine own and others, that Wednesday has to offer. It's a pattern that shows up over and over again.

We all have patterns that keep showing up in our lives. Whether it's a number, a month, a season, a type of lover - good or not so good, how and when we tend to find said lover, when we start or end something - when loved ones depart. Sometimes we don't notice the pattern. But our intuition does and starts nudging us. Sometimes we don't pay attention. But the patterns are there. My pattern is Wednesdays - and April and Decembers and seven, but I won't go into that right now.

Like the other day - yes, it was on a Wednesday in San Francisco. I had just shared my theory of Wednesday with my friend Marie. The next night at dinner with a mutual friend, Lee, we started sharing food stories. Lee wanted to tell us about his most treasured childhood memory - in his former life Lee was a librarian, so of course, he's a good story-teller. We were all his, but he really had me at "Every Wednesday after school..."

There it was. Marie and I looked at each other and she smiled. It's like that for me. Wednesdays keep showing up - all the good stuff, whether my own or somebody Else's, has a Wednesday connected to it.

So, I've decided to give in to it - Wednesday is the day I will park myself, open myself up to whatever presents itself and write about it - instead of finding something to write about. Who knows what will show up. I can't think of a better way to spend a Wednesday.

So none of that Armageddon stuff for me - none of it inspires me.

And I don't care that the behavioral scientists say that during times of uncertainty, at times when we have no control over the things that gravely impact our lives, when we feel most impotent, that is the time we are most likely to resort to magical thinking, to finding patterns where there are none - because it's the only thing we can make sense of.

It's so subtle, maybe almost a silly thing, but it's there - impossible to ignore. That's my theory, and I'm sticking to it.