I wonder about peaks and valleys, and which I am in, the grind, three days of mind wrenching winding traffic, each day a new excuse for this vile serpentine of red braking lights, stops and starts, twenty some odd miles that stretches into hours, three days of unrelenting mess, monday, rain, somehow rain is anathema to brains, I truly can not explain the phenomena, I don’t enjoy being late, but I don’t rather leave even earlier and wait, and wait some more, tuesday, more of the same, not sure of the problem that day, an accident rumored in the truck lanes, perhaps, makes no sense that traffic on a separate road is slowed due to an unseen wreck, that wrecks the entire morning, that feeling, when you finally make some progress but then look at the sign ahead and realize you barely have made headway or halfway, and then maddening local ordinances make street parking an asinine adventure, a loop d loop traverse around the neighborhood until a proper, semi-legal spot is found, for now, only to run out and move the car in an hour, to avoid the local ticket brigade, more than happy to enforce the one inch you crossed toward the end of the block, then there is today, wednessday, snow in the forecast, snow on the car when I left the house, none on the road mind you, barely any on my hood mind you, but like rain snow apparently blinds cognitive ability, and certainly motor vehicle functionality, I begin to wonder if I am a mountain, being sucked under into a subduction zone, for at least then I will melt and be remade into vibrant new magma, but these days I feel more like an old mountain, bordered on the sea with waves pounding upon me relentlessly, eroding me, piece by piece, grain by grain, into the ocean, dissipated among the shores barely aware of my once mighty mountain cohesion, death by a thousand laps but death just the same, like slowly sinking, one day realizing your height has left on permanent vacation, maybe it is all this gray, the concrete median, the asphalt, the lack of sun for three days, the shorter days, the monotony of urban construction projects in bland display, I always thought to myself why don’t they decorate some of these bridges with art, these damn drab bridges crossing over, all the same, one by one without a name, not deserving of one either, overpass number such and such, just past mile marker such and such, and spiraling down thus, I look up, there is snake rock, NYC skyline off in the distance, the snow is just enough, just enough to coat things evenly, like a beautifully breaded perfect recipe, just enough so you can see the original lines under of everything, the tree branches, the rock outcrops, not so bad I thought, finally my exit reveals around, still a little late this morning but nothing out of total bounds, I pull up to the office, make that left I always make, and behold a spot right in front to take, or even three, hard to believe, I feel like a kid stealing a candy bar from a grocery store, I twice look around, I know to heart all the local laws, today is not a restricted day, here is not a restricted spot, for once I have to give in, and believe in my luck, so perhaps this is hump day after all, and I am at the top of said mountain, not realizing I was climbing, all this time.
notes… does this need any ? curious of your thoughts after reading this…. are there any other commuters out there? hello? is this thing on ? tap … tap … tap ….