Today, I'm trying to remember.
I'm trying to remember why I don't say to hell with my priorities and just drive.
I don't want to be at work.
I don't want to be at home.
I just want to be on the road.
Maybe even (NOTE: This is illegal and highly ill advised) like that drive to Gulf Shores freshman year of college, when Emily convinced me that it was okay to put the car in cruise control and hang my barefeet out the windows while driving.
Everyone else in the car was doing it.
It made sense at the time.
It's what you do when you're almost to the beach.
Maybe I have a particular destination in mind.
Maybe I don't.
Seattle, New York, the ocean, the mountains.
Anywhere, everywhere, somwhere specific.
Just not here.
I feel restless.
Unsteady on my own feet.
Ani Difranco spoke to me this morning.
Though, instead of a walk (I did that at 3 this morning), I want to drive:
Think I'll go for a walk now
Feel a little unsteady
Don't want no one to bother me
Except maybe you
Today, I don't want to be an adult.
I want to be 20 again.
That's still a child, in case you were wondering.
I want to be in love.
I want not to care that there are suddenly miles and miles of road between us.
It wasn't an obstacle.
Two and a half hours.
The drive took seconds.
I drove to him.
I drove back to my responsibilities.
I drove back to him.
42,000 miles in one year.
It didn't matter.
I wore out cds.
Did you know you could do that?
You can't really.
I don't think.
But I scratched them, unintentionally.
The soundtrack to Great Expectations.
Our Lady Peace.
They all still make me think of him.
A bag of supplies is in my vehicle.
It always is.
Perpetual soccer mom.
Even without children.
Change of scrubs, change of clothes, shoes, underwear, emergency make-up kit, travel size shampoos and conditioners, hair dryer, toothpaste, toothbrush, perfume.
I'm always ready.
Credit card hidden in the vehicle.
Emergency credit card.
Only to be used for gas and hotel rooms.
For moments like this.
When I can't stand to be here another second.
When everything seems too much, but not enough.
Not enough at all.
Because one thing is missing.
And when I feel empty, or scared, I drive.
I drive fast.
To no where, to everywhere.
An hour, six hours.
I want to go.
More than I wanted to go yesterday, but still not enough.
Because I'm not a child anymore.
I can't just leave.
People count on me.
I count on me.
To be responsible.
To do what's right.
To do what's necessary.
So, here I am.
But today, I don't want to be here.
Tomorrow might be different.
I might feel more secure at home.
More right with the world.
At ease, confident, secure.
Wanting things to come to me.
Waiting for my destiny.
But not today.
Today I want to find it.