by Karen Abbott
I’ve logged a lot of time in the car lately, driving till my back is stiff and my hip is locked up.
I knew this year would be difficult, commuting to work and driving the kids to school regularly. Even though the weather’s been cooperative for the most part, the months have taken their toll. I’m tuckered out.
One problem is that I’ve run out of things to think about on the drive. The music all sounds the same. The stations blur together until they sound like a horse fly buzzing my head on a hot August day.
I’m tired of books-on-tape and positive thinking. I’m physically tired enough that my mind doesn’t have the energy to fight the creeping negativity of slush and partly-cloudy.
My thoughts turn to second-guessing how I got into this situation and devising plans on how I might get out of it.
Until then, I drive. And drive. And drive.
A co-worker in the frame shop where I work left a few months ago for a better job. He earned good wages as a trucker once and in the press of life flew the coop of retail to hit the road again.
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