A straight line

Not my commute, but not that far off either

One of the things that has been most strange to me about life in New England, at least our corner of it, is the complete and utter absence of straight roads.  I am telling you that they do not exist. This confounds me.

If there were a couple of straight roads between the Den and my office, I am telling you my commute would be at least ten minutes shorter than what it is now. Not that I'm complaining. Remember, I spent five years driving 130 miles a day, A DAY, on Satan's favorite freeway, the 91, in southern California.  When I think about the amount of time I spent on that road, it makes me, well, enraged sad. Although on that commute I did elevate the ability to read the LA Times cover-to-cover while driving to an art form. Another art I elevated while on that commute - changing from work clothes into a swimsuit in order to go jet-skiing while keeping the naked driving time to a bare (and I do mean that pathetic,easy pun) minimum.  That's a story for another time.

I like a straight line when I drive.  Maybe it's part of that oldest/first-born child thing.  Maybe it's that borderline OCD thing I have with certain things being in order.  I was never much for coloring outside the lines. I guess I like the concept of sticking to the straight and narrow.  There's a lot to be said for sticking to that path. It may not always be the most exciting path but it works for me.

(I know I've been off the grid for a little while - work has been insane this week.  That's all there is to it.)