I was going to write about wine tonight, thought about it on my drive home, but I had an Angela Chase moment and started to just think.
Driving on the Interstate at night is a lonely thing. It's very dark, because it's rural, and although you can't interact with them, you just wish for another vehicle. It's one long stretch of darkness from John's house from mine, and my mind is sometimes just too active. Sometimes I worry about a deer jumping out in front of me, sometimes I have full-blown fights with people in my head, sometimes I compose entries for this blog.
And sometimes I just look into all that blackness and despair. It just seems so overwhelming, a living metaphor for my life. It is all encompassing and closing in and there are no other headlights or tail lights to break it up. Sometimes I cry when I drive.