smooth

GRAVEL

13.  This evening, on my way to the hardware store to buy light bulbs to replace ones that have been dropping like flies around here, and to take my socks, underpants, and shirts to the Laundromat – dirty socks are the driving force here – my attention was suddenly brought with a jolt to the numerals "34" at the end of a California license plate; they were on a Suburu directly in front of me. Later in my room, my attention was also suddenly swiveled around onto a World Atlas I thought I'd lost. It was on the top shelf of the bookcase beside my ex-roomate's abandoned chest of drawers. I'm only mentioning this because this "34" business has been going on for about a year. I'll be minding my own business, and suddenly this otherworldly entity that's inhabiting my peripheral vision will grab hold of me and point out another "34" on a license plate. Actually, it's reassuring when this "back seat mind" makes itself noticeable to me, just to prove, once again, I'm riding with a secret friend. It's totally different from the part of the mind that reminds me to put on my seat belt so I don't get pulled over by the police. That's my superego, or training. No. This is different. It's not training at all. It's overarching certainty driven by playfulness. At the coin laundry I lost a sock. I let my mind go, and boom! There it was, over on the floor. A wet sock.