Vianne is trippin'!

She's getting packed up, bathing the dog and heading on down the highway. Well, not 'down' actually. Just slightly up and to the west, past Lafayette and Lake Charles and right on into Texas. And she's wondering if it's really possible to say Texas without that accent which seems to emerge, unannounced, anytime she says Texas (Tayuhxas). Or Tennessee (Tayuhnnessee), for that matter. Mississippi (Meyahssissippi). Louisiana (Loueeyuhzeeayuhna). Alabama is almost neutral. Once you get past the initial 'A' that never seems to sound right unless you make it a two syllable sound - Ayuhlabama.

Vianne left home awhile back, quite awhile, in fact, and has been roaming the highways ever since, looking for life, engaging herself in one adventure or the other. I know from long contact with Vianne that most of these adventures occur in her imagination only, but it's surely hard to tell truth from fiction. Sometimes. Not only for those of us listening to her tales, but, I suspect, for her as well. I've never known someone to live so much inside herself. And not even know that's where she is.

I remember the time she called, full of the tale of the satin stranger. She described him as sleek and smooth and willing to do most anything in the world just to please her. They rode together for a day and a half before she pulled into a truck-stop cafe for morning coffee and saw a big ol' truck driver chatting with the waitress. As soon as I heard all about his muscles expanding his t-shirt, I knew she had found another travel companion. That particular day dream lasted for most of the week. It took her that long to find a suitable replacement in the check-out line at the D'ville WalMart. She was there just to pick up a half-gallon of Rocky Road and a Redbox new release. Never suspected she would find the man of her dreams.

But Vianne is nothing if not open to knew suggestions.

Vianne lives - or half-lives, might be more accurate - with Joe the Depressor. You know how we were taught as children that if we didn't have anything nice to say, it was better to say nothing at all. Joe didn't learn that lesson. Or if he did, he somehow got turned all the way around and interpreted it to mean just the opposite. Joe believes saying anything nice is a sign of weakness. And unfortunately for Vianne, he's the strongest man she's ever known.

But the girl is on the road, again. Good things happen on the road.