The Long Drive

I am loving the new job, folks. Which bothers me. Every time in my life that I found myself in a good situation, something unexpected and ugly sits down and fouls the nest.

Okay, there’s one thing that is less than optimal. The drive. The long drive. The long tedious drive.

I live in Barstow, famously. Oh, Barstow. But for the song Route 66, no one would know your name. Except Hunter Thompson fans, who can chant the opening of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas like a Catholic knows the Hail Mary.

(“We were just out of Barstow when the drugs kicked in…”)

I do not want to leave Barstow, as I am renting a three bedroom house for $1275 per month. No, that’s not a typo.

So I drive from Barstow to Upland each day, a distance of about 75 miles.

Some days–like tonight–it’s a breeze. I get home in a little more than an hour.

Most days/nights, it’s not so great. Thursday night two weeks ago I spent 3 hours on the road–just coming home.

I’ve tried to find a place close to the office, a sort of camp ground during the week. But finding an apartment is easier said than done.

On the other hand, I’m listening to The Great Courses in my car and I’m digging it. I just finished a 24 lecture course in short stories tonight, and lo and behold, I was inspired to write a new short story. It’s not a Minerva story, but a little bon bon about music and life and missing out on love.

Okay, so maybe if I start to get inspired in the car, the drive won’t kill me.

But don’t bet on it. The rain continues and, as we all know, the rain wants us dead.