You are the luckiest ducks, ever!
Because I'm stuck here waiting on the meter man from the gas company to come read my meter (it takes 2 whole seconds to read the fucking meter but I have to wait here for 3 hours b/c I wasn't here when he tried to read the meter last month), but b/c of that, I am at liberty to regale you with the details of my drive to a little town called Powell, Ohio yesterday morning! Yay! What could be more fortuitous than that?
By freeway, Powell is only 20 minutes from my house. But if one suffers from panic attacks while driving on freeways (oh, for instance, someone like moi), Powell, by way of back roads, suddenly becomes closer to an hour away. Well, I have a client who lives in Powell that I have to see twice a week and it necessitates me driving in morning rush hour traffic to get there, whether I go by freeway or not. Twice I've driven there by freeway and twice it triggered an anxiety attack (for some reason, driving home a couple hours later doesn't bother me as much b/c there's hardly any traffic by then). (And I've also learned that listening to Serge Gainsbourg's Comic Strip while driving on the freeway in rush hour traffic helps trigger a panic attack, while Dmitri from Paris' Sacrebleu does just the opposite! Good to know, gang!)
So yesterday morning, I decided to try going the back way and it was a splendid drive. It's really getting ready to be fall and for a good part of the drive, it's practically out in the country. So many trees that are just beginning to change colors. even some of those enormous old red barns and -- Yes!!-- even some cows!! Yay! It was such a gorgeous morning.
You know, I originally lived here in this area from 1971 to 1980, and I returned to the area in 2006. A lot has changed. I don't know my way around at all anymore so every car trip is kind of a new adventure. And, usually, when I revisit places I recall from my childhood, the adventure is not so sweet. There is a lot of decay and degeneration and abandonment at many of the old haunts, so that's sad. But other areas, of course, like anywhere else, are thriving. It's very interesting to see it all leisurely by car when one isn't stuck in that surging traffic on the freeway.
Yesterday, while I was making my trek out to Powell after driving, and driving, and driving, I suddenly came upon an area of town that I recalled viscerally. And I mean that in the horrible sense of the word. Suddenly I was upon this quaint little part of town that looks almost colonial in a way, and my bones screamed out at me: "This is where the mental hospital was!!" And, yeegads, my bones were right! I suddenly recalled that area by heart and I knew that if I made a right turn on this certain street, the mental hospital would be right there. I didn't make the turn, of course, b/c I had more important things to do than remember what it was like to be both suicidal and confined to that awful place against my will... the very nadir of my existence. (I used to dream about loading the entire staff from that place into a yellow school bus, taking them to a nearby park then making them all get off the bus; then I'd douse them in gasoline and set them all on fire.) (And I'm not generally a violent person. My dreams are very rarely ever violent.) Anyway.
I told myself: Just keep driving... keep going, don't look back. (Dmitri from Paris' Sacrebleu is also an excellent soundtrack for leaving the past behind and turning it into a dot in the rear view mirror, gang. ("I am a very stylish girl...") Just in case you find yourselves in a similar situation -- maybe you should buy that CD. Good to be prepared, I always say.)
By freeway, Powell is only 20 minutes from my house. But if one suffers from panic attacks while driving on freeways (oh, for instance, someone like moi), Powell, by way of back roads, suddenly becomes closer to an hour away. Well, I have a client who lives in Powell that I have to see twice a week and it necessitates me driving in morning rush hour traffic to get there, whether I go by freeway or not. Twice I've driven there by freeway and twice it triggered an anxiety attack (for some reason, driving home a couple hours later doesn't bother me as much b/c there's hardly any traffic by then). (And I've also learned that listening to Serge Gainsbourg's Comic Strip while driving on the freeway in rush hour traffic helps trigger a panic attack, while Dmitri from Paris' Sacrebleu does just the opposite! Good to know, gang!)
So yesterday morning, I decided to try going the back way and it was a splendid drive. It's really getting ready to be fall and for a good part of the drive, it's practically out in the country. So many trees that are just beginning to change colors. even some of those enormous old red barns and -- Yes!!-- even some cows!! Yay! It was such a gorgeous morning.
You know, I originally lived here in this area from 1971 to 1980, and I returned to the area in 2006. A lot has changed. I don't know my way around at all anymore so every car trip is kind of a new adventure. And, usually, when I revisit places I recall from my childhood, the adventure is not so sweet. There is a lot of decay and degeneration and abandonment at many of the old haunts, so that's sad. But other areas, of course, like anywhere else, are thriving. It's very interesting to see it all leisurely by car when one isn't stuck in that surging traffic on the freeway.
Yesterday, while I was making my trek out to Powell after driving, and driving, and driving, I suddenly came upon an area of town that I recalled viscerally. And I mean that in the horrible sense of the word. Suddenly I was upon this quaint little part of town that looks almost colonial in a way, and my bones screamed out at me: "This is where the mental hospital was!!" And, yeegads, my bones were right! I suddenly recalled that area by heart and I knew that if I made a right turn on this certain street, the mental hospital would be right there. I didn't make the turn, of course, b/c I had more important things to do than remember what it was like to be both suicidal and confined to that awful place against my will... the very nadir of my existence. (I used to dream about loading the entire staff from that place into a yellow school bus, taking them to a nearby park then making them all get off the bus; then I'd douse them in gasoline and set them all on fire.) (And I'm not generally a violent person. My dreams are very rarely ever violent.) Anyway.
I told myself: Just keep driving... keep going, don't look back. (Dmitri from Paris' Sacrebleu is also an excellent soundtrack for leaving the past behind and turning it into a dot in the rear view mirror, gang. ("I am a very stylish girl...") Just in case you find yourselves in a similar situation -- maybe you should buy that CD. Good to be prepared, I always say.)
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