Rox in the box.

December 31, 2012 § Leave a comment

decemberists - mayday setlist

decemberists – mayday setlist (Photo credit: derektor)

If you ever make it to ten you won’t make it again.” Rox in the box. – The Decemberists 

As the wheels rolled over the smooth, sun drenched Nevada tarmac I couldn’t help but feel like I’d lost control. From the passenger seat of my friends 1979 Chevy Monte Carlo I watched the desert pass me by. Despite the fact that this strip of sand is just a pass point, a through road, today it felt familiar enough to be home. I know this ground. I know this road. Many nights I’ve eaten it up with a soldier’s appetite and a lover’s passion. I try not to focus on the slowly drawing in claustrophobia that comes with the roof being down. Every other time I made this trip it was with an open sky. Headroom. Today, I’m just a bird in a cage. Yes. Today, I’m just a bird in a cage.

Passenger seats are hard work for me. I loose the bliss of the mindless yet distracting task of driving. I have to deal with myself. The passenger seat is the bathroom and the dark in the night before sleep. The passenger seat is self-reflection. Self reflection was always something that I struggled to see. A voice breaks my thoughts like a dart to a balloon “Do you wanna drive?” – “Sure.” I reply. I don’t skip a beat. It’s as if I was waiting in the silence for a question to respond too. I’ve been doing that since I was a kid. You’d never know what was going on inside my head.

She pulls the car onto the sandy hard shoulder and lets the back wheels slide on the loose surface. We leave the doors open as we switch. They are barley closed when I hit the accelerator. I drive like I have something to prove. I snatch gears like I’m building to something. First goes in a second, and second soon follows. Then third and forth. Building like there’s a conclusion. Like at the top of the fifth gear will be get by an explosion. An end. I watch the hand on the rev dial climb in the fifth gear and peak and I wonder just what it is I would like to happen here. Just sometimes. For a second. Don’t you just wish for a moment of violent self destruction? Just so we really do appreciate the moments we are warm and safe in our beds on a Monday, looking down the barrel of the working week in a job we hate for no pay. Sometimes, we should just be thankful that the worlds not on fire.


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