Sunday, October 9, 2011

Why it kinda sucks that I live so close to my job.

Don't get me wrong - 99% of the time, that's actually a good thing. I don't have to leave more than 15 minutes before I'm actually supposed to be there, I can run home if I really had to, and I don't have to sit in anything that could even remotely be referred to as "traffic." Even if I took the "long" way, which really only makes the ride eleven minutes as opposed to eight.

There are two main things that I miss about living in Houston proper: the practice I got driving around so many crazies on a regular basis that I was used to it, and being in the car long enough to forget about driving and be able to sing. Even as I type it, I realize how completely fucked up it sounds. I know it, but I can't help it. I remember hundreds of times that I would get to class and realize that I barely remembered the drive at all. I know that I changed lanes several times, navigating entering and exiting at least two freeways, yet the last thing I could remember was backing out of the driveway. Why? Because I would spend most of the drive singing. Loudly, and surprisingly well. Well enough that one of my college music professors suggested I consider singing professionally, which I find amusingly irresponsible. What kind of college professor suggests that their students quit school to do something so risky? Ehhhh, maybe he was drunk.

To this day, I remember that I could reach notes in the morning that I would struggle attaining later in the day when my voice had warmed up, which never made sense to me, by the way. I would sing for at least forty minutes each day, and that was just commuting from home to school, and later to work. Sometimes I'd just go driving because I enjoyed it. I did! I loved driving. Especially later at night during the week - little to no traffic, windows open, and stereo BLARING. Because a huge reason I enjoyed being that I'd often sing the whole time. I can't listen to the B-52s Cosmic Thing and stay in a bad mood. It's instantly therapeutic, whether I want it or am ready for it to be or not. I associate music and smells with every good or bad memory in my life, and I find it soothing. When I left the vet from taking my Akita to be put down, Madonna's Live to Tell was on the radio. I associate a lot of the Red Hot Chili Peppers with my first college boyfriend, specifically the song that was in that Coneheads movie and that will forever make me think about the lowest point of our relationship. Hearing The Cars and Led Zeppelin immediately takes me to a camping trip in Ruidoso, New Mexico I went on with several friends/coworkers (and my boss!) from Evergreen Pool. Driving across Texas on one of our many trips to San Francisco, my friend Dan and I listened to Depeche Mode's Black Celebration. Dan, in fact, was a huge musical influence in my life and I am eternally thankful to him for exposing me to so much music and dragging me to a million record shops from Houston to San Francisco and in between. Although I do also lovingly blame him for my dreams involving Rick Ocasek and Run DMC. (Don't ask.)

So, although many people would consider giving up their first born to have a ten minute commute, I miss it. If gas wasn't so fucking expensive and my husband wouldn't consider having me committed, I'd go for a nice long drive right now. 9:40 on a Sunday night? Oh my gaaawwwwddd! It doesn't get much better than that.

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