I can’t ever schedule things. When I think too much, I make the wrong decision and waste time hair-pinning back and forth double my distance driven and my time spent on the effort of saving a few minutes gasoline. Or I don’t plan at all, make it up new after each step, and drive the same amount, later thinking of a twenty/twenty route that’d’ve saved me half the driving.
Today was the former, driving Mary to work so that I could go back to labs thereafter. The labs took ten minutes and my first coffee shop was too full for parking. Back and forth to far sides of the tiny city, five minutes here or there, wasted, the small sort of inconveniences that are all the more frustrating for their simplicity.
Now I’m at the normal shop in the normal place, having driving all the way home and walked here, stomping through snow and limps, without a clear enough mind for anything else. In my effort to save time I lost sleep and my eyes ache, thoughts come incomplete, jagged as if torn off.
I’m a quart low and I can still feel the dipstick prick, the most popular vein running tandem with a nerve that’ll ache for hours after the wound has closed. It would all make more sense if I weren’t so tired, but it’s too bright to sleep.
I don’t think I want to be here. I think I want to be alone.