12/3

Eye lids won't open today.

The drive to Baltimore is surreal.  The clouds and reflections of light and early morning fog glaze over me.

I should not be driving.

So I sip on the coffee I picked up at a gas station.  It burns my tongue and I whimper.  Like a child.  Then a cigarette is in my mouth and I'm lowering the window.  Letting the cold air come rushing in.

Cars breeze by me.  To my left.  To my right.

I am not going fast enough.

I press on the accelerator and try to concentrate.  Widen my eyes and straighten my back.  A couple slaps on either cheek.

Then I'm playing with the radio.  I'm pressing buttons and turning knobs.  Catching static and country tunes, weather reports and pop songs.  A car horn blares at me as I drift into the next lane.

I jerk the wheel right.  Then left.  Then right again.

Angry commuters glare at me for the moment they have to peer in through my windows, before speeding off toward the horizon.  Such contorted and pained expressions.

I can't keep up.

So I check my mirrors and make my way to the side of the highway.  Coast to a stop.  Close my eyes and lean back.  Let the cigarette lackadaisically hang my from lips.

And ignore the cars streaming by my window.