Drive
So maybe I can just play it off, like I always try to, despite my lack of slickness, my paucity of finesse. So maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t eaten in 24 hours that depressed the hell out of me, that it’s all biological, that it’s all in my head. Maybe it’s the fact that all this studying is playing with my brain. As my ICM professor said, “better living through chemistry.” So.
It’s always just in my head.
I wish. There are too many things I’ve seen, too many things I’ve felt, to be comfortable with ascribing all this to madness. It’s all too horribly real, and I feel like I’m falling.
“You look so sad,” a dispassionate observer commented, and at least I know some things can still make it to the surface.
And there’s nothing I can do, but go. “Get me away from here, I’m dying.” It’s warm, the sun is shining brightly, the car calls, the open road beckons. I have always believed in the myth that somehow I might find myself at 70 mph.