I’m taking Jazzy back to Vancouver next week. Big long road trip. Nothing to do but drive 1,700 kms through the mountains and think. Road trips have always been good for my mind. Sometimes I don’t even turn the radio on. It’s like yoga with a full tank of gas.
I already hung 398 kms on my car in the last 48 hours, driving Jazzy to Strasbourg (where my dad lives), then down to Moose Jaw (where my grama lives) and then back up to Strasbourg where she’ll be spending New Year’s. Dad told me about a short cut at Lumsden that would take me on a grid road along the valley and across the prairie to Pense, where I’d connect with Hwy 1. Shaved 30 minutes off the trip each way.
In the meantime, everything’s sort of been in between for me. Last week of December syndrome. I try to work, but not really. No one else is either. I try to be ‘here’ but I’m already thinking about ‘there’. This year is ending and next year doth beckon. The whole week is a mulligan because nothing really matters, especially not time. It’s like the week caught jet lag. I should be enjoying this more.
It’s a good time for reading. It a good time for writing. It’s a good time for musing. It’s a good time for sitting in coffee shops all day long without worrying about the time flying away. It’s like a road trip in slow motion.