Deathbridge Rd.

Before I posted about the coffee, I wrote this story ... the first that i've written in a decent amount of time. here's to furthering my awakening.

Deathbridge Rd.

One would think that living on a windy stretch of asphalt named Deathbridge Rd. would lead to some excellent stories, some eerie shit. To think that would be wrong but presumptuous enough to not want to travel said road.

You live on Deathbridge Road?

Yes, yes I do.

Sounds dangerous. I’ll find someone to take you home.

There’s not even a bridge.

I’ve heard things…

There isn’t even a body of water – nothing to bridge.

Pauses…. No bridge.

When you live on Pumpkin Patch Ln. you have no problem finishing the bowl of punch, the rise krispie squares that your mom has put out.

When you call Oakmont Ave. home you don’t have to see that “I’m processing the name of your scary road” look that glasses over people when you ask them for a ride.

Growing up on ol’ Deathbridge Rd. has its frustrations. Who knew that the name of the road you live on would hinder your social development as a child. Less parties, fewer friends, more connotations that somehow lead people to believe your name might as well be Deathbridge Rd. Little Megan Deathbridge.

Maybe this is why “ironic” doesn’t jump to the forefront of your brain, rather “satisfaction” shines, lighting your insides forcing you to swallow your smile … when a chunk of the road inexplicably opened up and swallowed that school bus. Ironic satisfaction? Satisfying irony.

Tragedy. Awful. Horrific. Freak accident. Engineering blunder. God’s wrath. All words that were found in the headlines, on the ticker, out of Katie Couric’s mouth.

It was ruled a Level 7 Pebble Wash – the only one ever documented. The road had been built, by the county, in 1953 across an expanse of land to connect Highway 31 and Bartles Blvd. 3 winding miles that hosted 6 houses, 4 of which were occupied. Built like any other road, during that era it was a road not too unlike roads that are, somewhere, being built right now.

Clear some dirt, level the surface and lay some asphalt. No special instructions – the land had been assessed, surveyed and classified fit for a road. What the engineers didn’t find, what they couldn’t have found (without necessary equipment and millions to fund such a dig and geological study) was the fact that the 100 yard chunk of the road sat 300 feet atop a geological anomaly – a pit of limestone sand that over millions of years gradually ate the soil above and around it creating a pit that was deep enough to hide a 4 story building. A pit that gobbled what was left between it and the sky – Deathbridge Rd. with a lightening quick culmination of eons of isolated progress. A pit that became the final resting place of 23 children aged 7-14 and Carrie the busdriver.

The bodies were eventually recovered. The geologist did their multi-million dollar study. The cameras went away.

And Horton Bridge was built to connect the separate sides of Deathbridge Rd.

Fun with coffee.

When you stop drinking coffee on a regular basis, halting the dosing of caffeine your metabolism increases as you process legitimate energy.

When you then have an occasional cup of joe ... you are slapped around and shot up with some jittery fucking nerves.

Bouncing around, a hint of paranoia. Legitimately cracked out - but in a mostly manageable-outward facing way.

I'm sitting at the table littered with newspapers, an older man munching on putrid smelling, stale popcorn standing to read the sports page on the opposite side. Looking around I can't find a clock but feel that I am now in my second hour of writing for my car @ Les Schwab.

Have they even looked at my car? I ... don't think so. How much longer can this go? I'm over caffeinated and waiting. Fuck-oh-dear I hate waiting.

It's my turn, my car is now visible in the um ... tire working bay.

Just another idiom?

You know that I enjoy, in terms of sayings, idioms?

"Dripping with Sunshine."

Perhaps it is because it is a state of mind, a moment of existence / being that I've perceived as oft-unattainable for myself.

My fascination may also be contributed to the fact that those deemed "dripping with sunshine," with the energy the emit, are undeniable. (Please keep in mind that "bubbly" is not a complementary trait to these warmth providers. There's something suspicious about bubbly. Dripping with sunshine on the other hand, is firmly rooted in genuine soil.) Despite your current disposition, the energy wafts off these people, licking and incluencing (maybe in just the slightest way) whatever the temperature of your shell, core or soul.

To me and my judgment one can reach this state / level for an amount of time no less than 48 hours and certainly never frequently maintain. Prolonged and frequent occurrences stab the integrity and genuiness that is the essence.

Do we need more people like this?

Naturally, duh, yes. In the current state of shit, we need as much as many as we can get.

Can this wonderful level be accessed by me?

On one hand, I'd like to say:" yes, of course. As long as you are able to meld compassion with legitimate and sound happiness ... sustaining and growing them together.

On the other hand - most would like to think they can achieve it only resulting in a nasty facade / veneer appreciated by no one. This is mainly attributed to the fact that you can't be happy for others until you're happy for yourself. Rare.

How about creating is synthetically?

Yes, but not for long and it's only in your head and those emulating your actions.

... Whereas "dripping" has a connotation of excessive, you must keep in mind that we're talking about some zen shit here. I'm no expert but in my definition it is something that is pure, concentrated and short lived in its most honest interpretation.