There’s two ways to get to work from my apartment. One way, looks closer and faster on paper. But it isn’t the way I like to go. It’s closer by a couple miles but getting there involves a left hand turn I don’t like making, bumper to bumper traffic, and cyclists. I prefer to go to work the indirect way. This is the way that passes the Folsom Prison. It’s the scenic route, as my Grandpa would probably say. I like the way the light hits the road when I drive around the bend. I like the view of El Dorado Hills in the distance–the way to Justin’s house. He’s not so far. I like passing City Hall.
Its days like today I’m grateful to come home. I think of the noodles getting ready to boil on the pot, the go-go-go of coming home. Vacuuming and dishes and washing my makeup brushes so I can cake them up again. I think of my Dad showing me how to fly a kite when I was little, and me quoting a movie I don’t remember, saying “You never know where a kite can take you, Dad”.
I think of my reason for moving here, to be with my Mom. But maybe it was really something else entirely. I think of Justin. He surprised me at work today as if to say, ha! You do like surprises! You just don’t know! Well, I do know now. I sure do love surprises. When I saw him, I think my heart did a hiccup. Can a heart do that?
I think of myself not even two weeks ago losing my mind. I seem to lose it more and more frequently and that makes me afraid. I know, I know. God doesn’t want you to waste time condemning yourself. But it’s as if the reminder of how I was–throwing objects, heart beating out of my chest–is a God send itself. Its almost like the memory is there to keep the real me at bay. A reminder of what is too far.
For anyone who doesn’t know, the scenic route is worth taking.