I Would Drive 154 Miles

I would, and I did.  Yesterday, I drove 154 miles.

The highlight of my weekend was getting together with an unexpected and possibly ill advised person, drinking two beers really quickly and getting quite loopy, then laughing so hard that I forgot for awhile how lousy things have been lately.  I needed that escape, and ill advised or not, that person was exactly who and what I needed Friday night, and I am grateful for it.  Sometimes the wrong puzzle piece in the big picture is the right piece in the little puzzle of a bad day.

154 miles.  I drove to escape unreliable friends.  The stress of my sick dog.  The unbearable loneliness that's weighing on me so much lately.  My lack of motivation to work out or eat better. The small parts of longing that still have their hold on me for the ill advised company of Friday night.  My own cynicism.

I got my driver's license when I was 26 years old, you know.  I was terrified of driving for so many years.  How strange that it has somehow become the thing I do to feel better, to relax, to clear my head. 

154 miles.