Whenever I’m driving in the slow lane to my exit, I’m tempted just to hit my right blinker and sail off into Cedar Lane instead. I’d take a little vacation between the cedars, drive through a hilly road to God-knows-where. As long as it was somewhere else. Somewhere new. It would only take a little turn of the wheel.
Oh, but why tempt myself when I have to go to work? I have to go to work to get a paycheck. I have to get a paycheck to eat. I have to eat to survive. Ergo… work.
It would be nice to just drive off somewhere, but I guess Cedar Lane doesn’t really go anywhere except past a bunch of homes that are better than mine. Where would I even go, anyway? I’d just be stuck in a little lane and I’d have to go back to work anyway. And I’d be late. A real vacation should be removed from everything. Screw Cedar Lane. Let’s go for Mountain Pass. The spiky crags of adventure off in the horizon. What’s beyond Mountain Pass? Freedom? Desert wastelands? Babe the Blue Ox? Doesn’t matter. It’d be an escape, a trip out of my life and out of my head—the best kind of vacation. No need to stop short at Cedar Lane. I’m going straight past Crenshaw to Mountain Pass.
But again, there’s that mantra of cold rationality. I need that paycheck to live. I need to go to work to get that paycheck.
This exit has so much traffic in the morning. Why is this exit always so crowded?