Often, I emerge from an unraveling narrative in my head, and find myself some miles down the road, with no recollection of the journey. NPR goes in an out in the mountains; sometimes mixing itself into fiery scripture, or modern country, so it's frequent that I just don't turn the radio on and drive in silence... (well, other than the conversations my brain is producing and the din of the road beneath my car). compact discs are packed away, and I don't even know what I'd pull out... nothing seems too worthy of the search right now. Spotify is a handy standby, but its not integrated with the car stereo, so not very manageable while driving. Generally, the drive to the office is an hour, most days, its an hour home. Two hours is a long time to spend with my self-esteem, my self-deprecation, and my depression. They engage me as conspirators, playing a game where they make worst case scenarios plausible; and with remarkable artistry, scenes are constructed in which I have a starring role. Every effort is made to tear away the veil of normalcy and stab at my heart in a detached and disinterested finality. By the time I arrive at said office, or said home - my demeanor has crawled well and truly through the darkest depth of my psyche and left me with little to construct into a façade of functional adulthood.
I think that's all the words I have tonight. Far fewer than I constructed on my ride home. Tomorrow, I'd like to talk a little about Michael Gerson that passed away today. He's someone that adulted very well...
Listening to: PBS News Hour from another room.
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