After running an enjoyably easy Redbud 5K (I love the Redbud and Walker (who abhors running) humors me - though this year he kicked ass), Walker and I marked off another six months by heading to Fort Smith for dinner at Rolando's (so yummy. so so yummy. like seriously, ahhhhh so so so so good).
I spent the three hour ride home lolling in the passenger seat, just completely content and full and moony from my Sangria Margarita - drowsing in and out of sleep with the good kind of tired from a good kind of day. Soaking up everything in seemingly slow motion...
These crazy rolls of heat lightening bursting apart a purple Oklahoma sky to the soundtrack of Nina Simone's Sinnerman. Power!
Slight worries about the drought, like the Oklahoma Dustbowl is ingrained in me or something - (read The Worst Hard Time, so interesting and definitely one of my favorite book titles).
Man, I love the passenger seat. I don't really care about a possible subliminal message - one of my favorite things about being in a relationship is how much I get to utilize the passenger seat.
The crazy ten commandment/Jesus/Abortion is Murder! billboards looming out at me - once they made me really angry and frightened, now they make me smile with their bizarre and ignorant charm.
Occasionally rubbing his shoulder. I'm awake, I promise. Just closing my eyes. I'm so happy you're real.
Yellow glowing gas stations with their Cokes to spur you on. Out of place in a wrinkled dress.
Singing Oklahoma! across the state line.
Dreams of Petra, Bolivia, California, Argentinian vineyards, Guatemala, Nicaragua and endless possibilities. Toes curling at the excitement of the future, a calming sense that (no matter my current unrest and unease) it will inevitably be happy. Safe.
Damien Rice (remember him!?) violin strings and Franz Ferdinand rock n' roll and Lily Allen feminism and deciphering Billy Joel.
Annnnd, we got home just in time to see the Thunder beat the Lakers! Eeee!