Sometimes when nothing else works, burning fuel on a night time lone ride does the trick. Like cool-aid. Driving around with no destination, racing where there's a speed limit, winding down the front windows to feel the breeze coming in, and tuning up the radio full blast. Cruising along the stopgap highway with the rest of the miserable nocturnal creatures. Looking for redemption, or a temporary relief from a certain ache. The further the distance, the longer the return. Sometimes just far enough for the tears to stop.
Sometimes it was a form of self-punishment: driving nowhere just to see how fast I could make the gas sign blink on a road I consciously know the next gas station is not near enough; or navigate recklesly to see how far the hands of God will keep me from crashing. Like playing with fire. Sometimes it was a form of punishment for the person who caused it: the thought of him worrying sick and angry at me for putting myself at risk, is like a balm to a miserable soul. Like knowing at least someone cared.
I know. I'm a little
night rider in her faithful jazz
Or, maybe I should write that in PAST TENSE, all of them, because lately I find myself hardly doing that anymore. I got delightfully distracted enough to find my way home safe and sound day by day, without detouring.
Oh I doubt that would stop altogether, after all, habits die hard. There's still the urge.
Now I just do it for different reasons: to floor the restlessness or indecision caused by a few important matters that need settling. And I hope there will come a time when I don't have to take the night time ride to nowhere alone anymore.
Will this peace settle at last? God help me.
p/s: Oh great. Why am I feeling mellow all of a sudden?
