calm-ute

Traveling by car. It makes my skin crawl. I used to squirm on family trips, rarely playing car games or sucking myself into a gameboy tourney. Motion sickness. I must be by a window at all times. To watch the same croppings of trees go by in Dorchester County. To see disabled vehicles on the shoulder, its captives scratching their heads as they are suddenly static on a drive. For years it has just been me, my stuffed tiger, and Lazarus (don't you name your cars?) trekking wherever, whenever. That stationwagon has seen me through more than I care to put down for others to read. Let's just say I've cried in it a lot. And now, we are on the move again.
Middle of the week interviews. Relatively unplanned porch parties. Relatively impromptu minidates. One hand on the wheel at all times, as the axles bias left like a lazy eye too long present to repair. Five hours of radio and the faint aroma of antifreeze. I'm home for less than a day. Then must gas up and be on my way. I've learned to appreciate the scenery, the bad music, and the kindness of rednecks. Roadtrips have become kinda zen. Calm-ute.