Carried away

(written Sunday 3/29)



I was fucking pissed.

I drove too fast. The windows were down, my hair ripping at my face. Each strand clawed my skin, and I willed the car to just go faster.

It's all alright now. A few hours have passed and what I was mad about, what upset me, was left behind.

But I digress.

The road stretched out. Mostly flat. Sun shone, but rain poured. Oh, East Coast weather...you bitch. You temperamental bitch. I understand you. You just can't make up your mind. You want to shine down on us- let the rays warm the Earth and heat our skin. But at the same time? Well at the same time you want to pelt us with sharp, stinging rain.

To comfort and harm, all at once. Yes, I understand you, East Coast weather bitch.

I spent today doing things. Best way I can describe it. It was a buffet kind of day. A little of this, a little of that, all on my too small plate. But somehow, once I blew off a considerable amount of steam on the highway, and with my running shoes, I'm settled now.

The windows are thrown open. I have a glass of good wine, and can hear the children sneaking in the last game of hide and seek before bed time.

It wasn't a boy that made me mad (Mother...that's for you), or work (Sunshine), but rather something else that needn't be mentioned. Because in the end? It just doesn't matter. I was angry. I could have shot fire with my eyes. But now? I worked through it. I was practical, productive and let Nickelback be the soundtrack of my hate. It worked.

And it's all ok. It's always all ok.