In the darkness of the car, the only other light comes from street
lights on the freeway. I'd much rather be reading at home with full
lighting and more space to stretch out. But here am I in the cramped
quarters of a tightly packed car; there is much luggage and even more
loud conversation. I'm trying to ignore a progressing feeling of
annoyance and accept my fate, which I did choose, but I feel pangs of
aggitation creeping up my spine. I'm wondering why my mother asked me
to come with her on this slow trip. She is talking and seems to have
long forgotten my presence. I'm just so bored and tired and bothered.
A wierd mix; too tired to complain, but too bothered to think of
anything else. I just don't want to be here, plain and simple.
Even music and meditation aren't drowning out the noise this time..
"You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, ...You shall
not look through my eyes either, ...You shall listen to all sides and
filter them for yourself." - W.W.
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