Turn left in Albuquerque

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I write this afternoon having failed to take the left turn in Albuquerque. So to speak.

I do not exactly where I am. Not that this is unusual. I am somewhere in South Carolina not far from the town of Holly Hill at the house of Doug et al. Doug, being in dire need of excessive pain and suffering in his life, has agreed to let me trash his house.

Tomorrow, have spread destruction across a swath that would impress a hurricane,  I will leave to speak to a S. Carolina writers group. Apparently they too need pain and suffering in their lives.

Getting here is the point.

I tell you the nearest town to where I grew up is Ellenton, about 250 people. Yes. I knew every person there when I lived there.

I also got lost in Ellenton.

I am not kidding.

Being so navigationally challenged, I developed a system to get me from point A to point B.

I find Point B. Point A is usually where I start from.

I find major roads, like interstates and four lane highways and roads which I have traveled enough to know about, that are between A and B.

When I get lost, I head toward one of these roads.

These roads, you understand, create a box around me and my eventual destination.

As long as I continue in a straight line, I will eventually cross one of these roads. Then, I get on that road and drive to wherever I want to be.

Yes, sometimes this does result in my going well out of the way, but as my Grandpa said many years ago "If you don't get lost, how will they know you've been there?"

So I write to you from somewhere in S. Carolina, having made it to my destination and probably having taken a rather roundabout way to get here.

But I'm here. That's what matters.