Living the Fast Life at 35 km/h
My mother has been in two car accidents during the course of this last year. She is so spooked at the wheel now that driving with her now is an arduous endeavor. While driving tonight, I am certain that we were lapped by Farther Time riding in a rickshaw.
For my mother, considering her bad luck on the road this year, driving is like breaking concrete blocks with her forehead; it takes about as much mental focus and concentration as it would take to levitate her car and fly it the entire way.
She takes only the faintest back roads and avoids all other avenues of regular traffic wherever possible. At times, it seemed that the road just disappeared altogether and we were left asking for directions from old men on rickety bicycles who spoke with thick unfamiliar accents and smelling of cabbage.
She also has to maintain a calm serenity about the vehicle's interior as she concentrating on the task at hand. She plays only piano solitudes (or anything else that would best contribute itself to a “think tank” type environment demanding your complete, focused attention) on the radio to keep her calm and alert. If it was not for the constant sudden breaking and veering every time another vehicle comes into view on the horizon, driving with my mother would induce even the most wiring coke fiend into a coma within minutes.
By the time we had arrived at our destination, almost a whole decade had passed and the clothes that I carefully chosen to wear where terribly out of fashion. People were staring as if I had just been wearing a fur skin and weilding a large animal bone over my shoulder.
For my mother, considering her bad luck on the road this year, driving is like breaking concrete blocks with her forehead; it takes about as much mental focus and concentration as it would take to levitate her car and fly it the entire way.
She takes only the faintest back roads and avoids all other avenues of regular traffic wherever possible. At times, it seemed that the road just disappeared altogether and we were left asking for directions from old men on rickety bicycles who spoke with thick unfamiliar accents and smelling of cabbage.
She also has to maintain a calm serenity about the vehicle's interior as she concentrating on the task at hand. She plays only piano solitudes (or anything else that would best contribute itself to a “think tank” type environment demanding your complete, focused attention) on the radio to keep her calm and alert. If it was not for the constant sudden breaking and veering every time another vehicle comes into view on the horizon, driving with my mother would induce even the most wiring coke fiend into a coma within minutes.
By the time we had arrived at our destination, almost a whole decade had passed and the clothes that I carefully chosen to wear where terribly out of fashion. People were staring as if I had just been wearing a fur skin and weilding a large animal bone over my shoulder.
posted by crazytigerrabbitman at
10:11 PM
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