I recently when on a road trip

and boy,

don’t they always sound better on paper?

I didn’t realize that I can get

claustrophobic

until I was strapped in and 150

miles away from home.

 

We drove through towns that I will

never live in,

past people who live in a completely

different reality than I do

even though we are only

2 hours apart.

 

Seeing how big the world is makes me

feel so stuck

and comfortable in my hometown

I don’t have to worry about getting lost.

Well,

physically lost at least.

 

Stopping for gas

like finally and desperately reaching

an oasis.

Legs are wobbly,

head pounding,

pacing in between unfamiliar but familiar

gas pumps.

 

Smile to the cashier you will never see again,

recognize that to them, you are just

a blip in their workday

they don’t get paid enough to care about the

cracks forming in your sense of time and space

and self.

 

Snacks that will remain uneaten roll

and crunch under my feet,

how long has that ache in my back been there?

God, I am getting old.

We are 3 hours away.

3.

3.

 

Up the stairs, down the hall,

through the door.

To the bathroom.

Back down the hall,

into the room,

that unfamiliar room.

A large window,

the sound of the city underneath.

 

New city,

new life.

Unfamiliar,

straining to familiarize quickly,

learn the streets and the trees,

quick,

before my brain realizes that I can’t do this.

 

Down the street a tire shop,

advertising “cheap”

where I would rephrase “affordable.”

Mexican polka music.

Bagel shop.

The ceiling in our bathroom is leaking.

 

And I ….

and I ….

And I-