My wife hates to drive. I mean, she REALLY hates to drive. I am the exact opposite when it comes to highway driving. Give me an open road and the right music and I will be a happy camper. This weekend I had to drive for about 7 to 8 hours to get to my sister’s. for fun, I drove us 2 hours to Wilmington and then 2 hours back. Then I had an 8 hour drive through Easter traffic.
It may alarm my passengers if they knew that I pretty much go into a reactive trance while driving. I watch the surrounding traffic, my speed and follow the flow. My brain shuts down higher functions and I let my mind drift. Sometimes I think about stories I am working on now but mostly I just relax. Away from a computer and away from a notebook, I can’t really do anything with my thoughts. It is the closest thing I get to a vacation as a writer.
I do think about blowjobs. I think about how it has been too long since I have written about the joy of releasing into a willing mouth.
I also think about trailer parks and how they would be a great environment for a different kind of BDSM story. I have had this idea for about 5 years now. Maybe I should do something with it. I always picture a naked woman pushing a lawnmower while an older couple watch from the porch.
I think about music. When I listened music on cassettes, I envisioned music coming from a black place. As if there was some sort of void of nothing that gave birth to guitars, pianos and lyrics. I wonder about that void now.
At a public rest stop, the sign says ‘Pets on Leashes Only’. I think of a submissive I knew who played as a cat. I picture taking her out of the car, naked and on a leash. I imagine how shocked the people here would be.
We pass old tobacco shacks. These ancient sheds are covered in vines, moss and grass. They also lean at impossible angles on the verge of collapse. The only thing holding them up must be the dread monsters inside them.
I wonder about Jimmy Varn and what traffic is like on the interstate when zombies run the world. I hope he found more cookies.
Now I am home. The routine of my day rubs away at my driving thoughts. I think about deadlines. I think about work. I think about bills.
I decide instead to write.