The Journey

When I drive to work, it’s early. The sun isn’t quite up and I am half-asleep as well. I sip hot coffee in the dimness, which despite the caffeine is soothing.  Happily, it’s too dark to see into the few other cars.

My thoughts are obscure, hiding under the covers.  I haven’t yet uttered a word. All is tranquil.

During this interlude I rarely worry about what is ahead.  Pleasant and irritating interactions, entertaining tasks and irksome chores, will come my way. Despite my efforts I will be thwarted by forces. Miraculously I stay in my cocoon until I pull into the parking garage. Once there, overhead fluorescent lights and the cold-water douse of the day’s trials rouse me.

As I drive home at the end of the day, there is no passageway into the Prufrock underwater dreaminess. The sun glares and drivers aggressively and pointlessly maneuver. Everyone is out, it seems, and everyone wants to drive up my butt. The dissatisfactions of the day pursue me.

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