Wanderlust

I spent most of the last two days in an altered state of consciousness. Somewhat deluded, exhausted, and floating in and out of the lands of Fratish Sapish. Stop. Don’t open your Google Maps app and search it out, there is no Fratish Sapish — not on a map, anyway.

This altered state was the result of driving 45 hours straight through from Yellowstone National Park to Coral Gables, Florida, where my family used to live. I mean they still lived there, technically, but now they were all dead — all four of them — so I suppose they didn’t really live there anymore. But their bodies, their stuff, and my childhood stuff, was still there; so you see it’s a sort of gray area.

I suffered from a literate sort of wanderlust, but now life seemed world-weary and over. I was exhausted, overtaxed, and constantly slipping in and out of Fratish Sapish.

(Note: I originally called it Frapish Satish but then I Googled the name and found it was the name of a journalist. So I changed a couple of consonants… that’s how I roll)

But now I had so much to do — baleful acts of bailing out of my past. But first, and without delay, I had to get some sleep by way of Fratish Sapish. There would be plenty of time to change my name tomorrow.

“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”

— Albert Camus / Notebooks 1935-1942