the traffic jam we know as life
It takes me about an hour to an hour and a half to get home from work each day. At first I used to bitch and complain like everyone else, but now I've grown to like it. It's become the only time that I can truly space out and pretend that life outside my car does not exist. I have not a care, not a worry in the world. Who cares what we're having for dinner, or the bills that I have to remember to pay; who gives a fuck what I will be drinking later, where and with who. I don't know why, but visualizing that there's nothing out there, including my boyfriend and friends, and just me living in the world that is my car, makes me feel so goddamn content. I wish I could just get in my car and drive forever, but eventually I'd just run out of gas and would have to come to the realization that this world is real.