freeway

girl in the hat

traffic jam
Sometimes I’m driving my car on the freeway and it hits me: one spacy moment, a hiccup, a tic, and I’m a goner.

The freeway lane is what–maybe twelve feet wide? Twelve feet of cement for me and my car, which must be at least six feet wide itself, so that leaves less than three feet between me and the dotted line on either side. Three little footsies. Hold my hands in front of me: that’s about the size of a doorway. Place two toddlers head to head and that’s how much space there is between me and the vehicle doing 75 mph beside me. There is simply no room for error.

What if I drop something? What if I spill hot tea in my crotch? What if I sneeze? It’s almost impossible to sneeze with your eyes open; does anyone else experience a post-sneeze swoon or is it just…

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