Neon and Chrome

It’s Saturday night and I’ve just gotten back from driving 70 miles of dirt roads and 4×4 trails in the Subie. Mission: get away from Flagstaff and scout for camping spots along the way. I was not disappointed; I made it as far as the rim between Flag and Sedona, and found a place where I could nose the car right up to the top of 1000 foot cliffs. This is good enough for me and hopefully I’ll get to try one of the sites out tomorrow night with friends in a celebratory mood. Surprisingly, there were very few other people in the area—surprising, given all the people who camp around here, but not so surprising because these spots are at the end of 40 miles of dirt roads and jeep trails.

Things are getting mucho crazy at the furniture store. Today found us going all the way up to Tuba City and across town several times. My day ended sooner than expected when the delivery truck conked on us and refused to start.

Tomorrow is the day for a long run, again, as I have been postponing these things due to competitive events, excessive hiking, homework, and online registrations for events in the future. Things that should make me train more diligently and push harder, but they don’t for some reason. It’s easier for me to sign up for events than to get out and bike or run when nobody’s watching and the sun is in my eyes and I haven’t had time to eat recently. This is a big problem for me.

Tim and Rose are in the neighborhood somewhere but I haven’t been able to contact them yet. I hope to meet up with them before they head east again. More busyness next week. Classes start again, but this time I’ll be taking the same amount of classes with two jobs instead of one. And, I need to find a another place to move again and go through that process again. The typical Jeremy-solution would be to buy his own condo and isolate all unfavorable variables, but alas, not all problems can be solved with money. And, mortgage regulations are virtually impenetrable during the recession for a student who is already mortgaged to the hilt. I still get a wide grin when I recall conversations with my 23-year old kamikaze “senior broker” from Pennsylvania who could push the shakiest finance deal through to settlement using his hatfull of “business partners.” Driven was an understatement for this guy. He was available 24-7 to comment on my latest swing deal, and he heard plenty of them at all hours of the day. The seven story mirrored office building containing only a few can-swing-any-deal guys throwing a football through the huge open spaces inside the building. I seldom saw them sitting at their desks—they were usually watching a football game or roaming the halls with bogus appraisals. It seemed too good to last; I think about them a lot and wonder if they still have their jobs and their BMW’s and their prime office lease. I doubt it.

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