A Nice Ride

If all else fails, I always have a nice ride.
I'm not talking about the Ferrari 458 Italia I so covet; I'm talking about a peaceful commute.
When I first started working at The Booze Emporium I would leave enough time to take the back roads. It takes about 10 to 15 minutes longer but it is worth it. Just like everything else, once I got over the newness of my work situation, I slipped into lethargy, leaving only 30 seconds more than the minimum time required to get to work. So I had to start taking the highway.
I don't like highways. They are boring. Highways are only good if you are drunk or not awake, then you are in the perfect mental state to just point your car forward and drive fast; and be bored. Plus you have to deal with low intellects who speed up on your ass OR, if you are on a two way road, people who drive 40 mph in a 55 mph zone, backing up a line of cars 23 long.
People who fall into the latter category should be hanged, drawn and quartered in the public square. Popcorn and soda available for a nominal fee.
I have gotten back into the habit of leaving a little earlier and taking the peaceful route. I think I am trying to dig in as year end looms; trying to grab as much peace and introspection as I can. Because when January 1 rolls around, it seems like everything shifts back into high gear. You rip down all your Christmas decorations with a vengeance and get back to the horrific grind of everyday existence. Compared to the beauty of the season just passed, everything seems to move at double speed. And the horror of a return to normalcy overwhelms you.
I will give winter one thing - on a sunny cold day, the air is crystal clear. As I drive the back roads, the beauty of the houses and the yards and the pets and the trees and the stone walls jump out at you in 3D. You know you are in New England. Rustic houses, country homes, horses condemned to small fields (horses belong in Montana), immaculate barns, decrepit barns, collapsed barns, rusted cars in the yard, lots of white occasionally interrupted with an insane purple. Farms. Orchards.
I spend so much time looking around and thinking about the lives of the people in those homes that once in a while I drive right up over a stone wall onto a front lawn. The owner will typically come out with a cup of coffee and say "Nice commute, huh?"
The ride home is even better, especially at this time of year. Dark, cold, lights on in the houses, lights on outside the houses and in the bushes and along the roof edge. I'm tired from another Booze Emporium beating, settled deep into the driver's seat, encouraging my heater to please crank up to civilized levels, and looking around. The GOD TV (usually huge) illuminating every living room (but probably not the lives in that living room).
During the commute to work I am looking at empty houses. At night I am looking at the homes of people who have survived another day. People eating dinner, reading, watching TV, performing the rituals that make them feel warm and comfortable and safe.
The back road commute makes me feel alive. Engaged. The highway makes me feel dead. Enslaved by deadlines and commitments. There is probably a beautiful metaphor in there about life. Moving too fast and missing everything versus slowing down and tasting life a little. I'm too tired to explore that right now. Figure it out for yourself.
 Gotta work today. Not up for it. It's Saturday and I should be home like all normal humans. No choice. The Mortgage Vampire is sitting right outside my picture window with an expensive cognac and a fat cigar, daring me to blow off work and a day's pay.
If all else fails, I always have a nice ride.