Blog? Journal? I've always looked back and regretted not recording my adventures in some way. All those restaurants, unique towns and people that I encountered during my 6 years with NWP will be lost to the memories. Each time I considered keeping a travel journal I became disenchanted knowing that pieces of those adventures would not be included due  to my late start. I won't be making that mistake this time. I've decided to  record my "adventures" from day one. Or in this case the night of culture shock that left me weeping at 1am in grand toddler style.

Passing the tourist rock sign on interstate 40, I thought "Alright, getting closer." Then spotting a posted phone number on the turnpike  with "918." Almost home." I paid my $4.00 in Tulsa thinking, for that much we should all get to see more of those decorative orange cones and barrels all along the route. In Tulsa my gps and I eventually navigated the myriad exit and speed limit signs. I'm guessing its  somewhere between 45 and 65 give or take a skid marked concrete barrier. Channeling my suspension challenged jeep on to my home of 18 years, Bartlesville looks the same as I left it in May when I decided I would have to come back for a month to test working for my dad's car lot and see if used car sales could live up to the hype. "Good money and a free place to live," sounds like a responsible choice for someone in their early 30s recently laid off . I'm sure the emaciated horse trying to graze a few blocks away from my grandmother's house agrees. Bville is the place to be. Jesus, look at that horse! I tried to snag a few pics, but my phone camera sucks. I'll try again tomorrow. I can't help noticing the odd familiar look of the horse's hip bones. They remind me of someone whom I'm still bitter at for not accompanying me  on this trek. As cheated as I want to feel, I can't help but envy him for having alternate plans.

rowling's inspiration for thestrals might have come from my neighborhood horses

Hmm.. The house that was always inviting and charming with flowers and small garden statues appears solitary and plain. At least the electricity is on, the water as mom indicated had not been turned on due to a leak under the house, but should be fixed in two days. Hmm.. A year with no utilities for an unoccupied house. I'm surprised that's they only functional issue.  With  2 large bottles of water in hand I decide to hang here rather than bugging a parent after midnight for crash space, both of which are most likely filthy with dust and trash. Oh god, is that what a moldy dog smells like? I open the bathroom door and whatever took a bath and died under house must be under this part of the flooring. Ok...Ok... Must keep perspective. Sudanese refugees. The boys who had to flee Sudan and walked in the desert for countless months while starving to flee  genocide would be happy to encounter a place like this to sleep. Focus, just air this place out and try to get some sleep. No use… the self pity takes over.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. There is trash everywhere and the carpet is visibly caked with dirt. It will take weeks to get it livable. During my 4-5 week visit,  I was hoping to improve my parents' living conditions by ensuring that each of their houses were no longer a health hazard, but it seems that my dwelling needs almost as much attention. Dirty dishes in the sink? How? No one even lives here. Isn't that a perk of coming back to a vacant house?  My couch seems relatively clean and unscathed minus the wire hanger indent from a careless tossing of the foul thing upon my microfiber oasis. Oh god, why did I come here? I've received almost a dozen texts from my teammates all reveling from their landslide win in today's bout. Pain, got MVP, Malice is texting pictures of her shot glasses and I'm here trying to rid a house of death's piss stench.

I text my brother, the only other person aware of the conditions of the other two housing options  and inform him of my dilemma, no response as almost expected.  Don't the hotels in town know that their rooms are perishable revenue? Why don't they know this? And Why do I no longer have a job where this information is useful? Come on, just give me a room for $50. It's 1am. No one else is going to reserve and pay for it. Isn't making $50 better than nothing?  I'll reserve it for two nights if that helps. No such luck. The front desk agents of three properties only quote me the rates in their system which is substantially higher than I hastily afforded myself . Alone and exhausted the culture shock of leaving vacationland and my newly cleaned cabin takes hold. The paper towels are clean and surprising soft. I cry into 3 or 4 wondering why I came back.  I'm now fully motivated and even desperate to work for any blood letting hotel corporation to escape this white trash existence before noticing that after airing the house out for about an hour the smell seems to have mostly dissipated; glad VHS technology is good for something. The 15 lbs VCR made a reliable window prop and the celling fan that's been running top speed is whisper quite. Maybe I can make this work for a night or two until I can really start cleaning after the pipe is fixed. A sheet, a blanket, face washed and teeth brushed I smoke a bowl and decide if I stay with a few hundred a month from selling cars I might be able to get this place livable. When is the first trash pick up? I've got some VHS tapes and wire hangers that like me, need to meet their destiny.