I was set to pen a long post about Planned Parenthood last evening as I stared at the walls of this week's Hampton Inn. I even started research and writing. I ended up deleting it. You either understand the selling of baby parts is wrong or you don't. Nothing I write that no one reads is going to change the situation. Can anyone explain why Democrats are against making birth control an over-the-counter medication?
I have had the weirdest dreams for the past several nights, unbelievably detailed and vivid. When I wake the substance of the dream fades as quickly as the hole a pebble makes when you toss it into a pond, but the idea that the dream was there is as tangible as the ripples on the water. Strange, I rarely dream and doing so multiple nights in a row is unusual.
Windshield time is not conducive to a positive outlook on life. I-70 in particular seems to wear me down and over the decades I have found this true of the roadway no matter what part of the country it traverses, perhaps because it is mostly a straight slash across the center of the nation. The highway seems to be a weird dividing line for weather; above gets snow, below does not or below sees rain, above the road none. It also seems to be an almost modern Mason-Dixon Line dividing cultures and dialects. I know this to be somewhat true in Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. I am not sure if the pattern holds sway in other parts of the country. It is also quite likely the whole idea is a figment of my imagination. Anyway, from Harrisburg to Kansas City and beyond the road is boring unattractive and dull. How US 40, which covers pretty much the same exact ground can be so much more interesting is beyond me. Of course the old National Road will take you twice as long to get you where you are going.
I think that is enough mundane, incoherent, soporific scribbling for today. Who in the heck writes whole paragraphs and posts about highways? It's a road.