The unbearable flatness of a hapless desert lizard

Somewhere between last week and this week, I got fed up with suffering and decided to stop. I gave up bemoaning the vertigo. Instead, I'm embracing my burgeoning skills as a meteorologist (although I'm not sure how useful it is to know if the air pressure is rising or falling). This week, I got tired of thinking about my frailties and started focusing on the present conundrum, which is trying to decide if I am plotting or pantsing my latest novel. Best of all, I turned a corner on the existential belongingness problem. At one point this week, I woke up to the realization that if I have no destination, then I can never be lost. 

You might think it sounds like I've given into despair and apathy. The truth is, I actually feel pretty good, considering the uncertainty of my life, which you know has been my nemesis for a while. (I even had to write a book about it.) I think the magic remedy for me has been resuming my walks and bike rides. Even though it is still close to 100°F at sunset, it's great to be out of the Trailer, listening to the birds, feeling the stifling air on my face, and waving at the old farts, excuse me, Over-55s, sitting on their verandas. 

So here I am, making peace with Tucson. I've got one toe still in the Bat Cave and nine toes in the Art Trailer. That is what I'm calling it. Or maybe the Trailer of Creativity. Trailer of the Creative Minds. (I know, I know, it's not really a trailer. It's a manufactured home.) Next week I'll check my Bat Cave mailbox, flush my Bat Cave toilet one last time, and turn in my Bat Cave keys. The end of an era. Or as my sister says, the end of a chapter. The story continues.

I'm glad to trade the bugs and bullets for javelinas and lizards. I haven't seen the javelinas this week, but the lizards are everywhere, all shapes and sizes, skittering hither and thither on the hot asphalt roads of the mobile home park. (I'd call it the Village if that name didn't remind me so much of The Prisoner and that terrifying marshmallow Rover that swallowed people from time to time.) Given the fact of lizard season and the number of vehicles in the Park, it's not surprising that as I take my evening walks or bike rides, I see some lizards that are flat. They weren't born flat. They got that way because of an error in judgment on their part. It's usually the little ones. They get excited, I'm guessing, when a big warm car comes rolling by and they lose their minds. Even with tires moving at 10 mph (the posted speed limit in the Park), one wrong move and splat. I've thought about taking photos of the flat ones. They remind me of that book about pressed fairies that was popular for a short time in the 1980s. One of my fears is that I will find one of these little guys squashed on one of my tires. Ew. On the downside, it's sad some of these flat lizards get creamed. Their live brethren are pretty cute. On the upside, if I do want to snap a photo, they hold still quite nicely. Unlike the sunsets, which don't hold still for anyone.