I'm pretty sure this is the first blog I've written while driving. I'm on my way to Indianapolis to pick Lindsey up from the airport. Holy cow, I'd forgotten how cold zero degrees is! At first my car didn't even respond to the turn of my key. It finally began to slowly turn before - much to my relief - actually starting.
Broken trees are everywhere, and a deadly cold gray has enveloped Fort Wayne. Craig windham on NPR just reminded me that this is the first day of winter. Along interstate 69, foot-thick trees look like snapped toothpicks, the gods of the earth appearing to bow in submission to the gods of the air.
Concrete bridges and roads merge with nature, creating a monotone world, save for the occasional green road sign or blue mile marker.
Gusts of wind have their way with me, batting me from side to side as if I were a toy between feline paws. I question the wisdom of continuing to type on this phone with my left thumb, but disregard the thought. My sense of self-preservation has been dulled by thirty months of regret.
Now blowing snow creates the illusion of driving in fog. The gray remains constant, yet the visible world shrinks to just a few dozen yards in every direction.
This long stretch of higway always reminds me of the drive from Cheyenne to Denver. Much of the scenery is nearly identical, though the absence of the Rocky Mountains to my right reminds me I am far from home. I wonder if home is the right word? A case could be made both for and against.
The sun is nowhere to be seen, though the darkening gray tells me it is setting. I come to the realization that I have forgotten my glasses. The drive back tonight will be more difficult because of it.
Three motels, two gas stations, and a McDonald's populate the exit leading to a tiny rural town, nameless in it's obscurity. A sign tells me I am 88 miles from Indy.
I stop typing for several minutes to consider the value - or lack thereof - of writing. It is an inherently selfish act. Oh, maybe not all forms, but certainly this essay. I also realize that my stream-of-consciousness narrative seems to possess an artificially highbrow tone, a voice I dislike reading. Even the self-serving blog has lost its luster.
Oh look, more golden arches ahead... I think I will use their facilities...