Monday, March 7, 2011


Awhile ago...

Hanging up the phone, and just leaving St. Paul, my brain couldn't bring itself to complain a string of anything else but what I told her. I told her to have patience- told her I'd come around at some point- told her this thing could be great if she just gave it time. Fostering a relationship from friendship was the long-term goal, and I was set to get there. Problem with these things, is "set to get there" doesn't get it done- an in-progress late bloomer like myself rarely falls into the lap and ease of a relationship to the chord of a smooth transition. I've been muscled, coerced, conned, and hoodwinked into commitment before I can spell "monogamous". Sometimes it's worked, sometimes. But fuck it, I'm not bein' strong-armed into another woman trap.

Shit, if she just had the patience... this could work out.

Meanwhile, back on the road...
Christ, who the hell drives 30mph from downtown St. Paul onto 94 West? The car in front of me, that's f----ng who. Sweet mother of lucifer and Agatha Christie, I will side swipe this vehicle like a deleted scene from Death Race if it doesn't move it's ass above at least 45mph.

Laying on the horn repeatedly, passing the drowsy-foot driver. I wanted to open my non-existenet sun roof, toss a brick thru it to the left, and hope it hit their windshield to successfully oust them off the road from ever producing such a road rage I feel in my veins at this very moment. Still laying on the horn, finally passing the slow-motion mobile, I looked into the eyes of a woman terrified beyond course of action & word. The look in the woman's eyes that I had just honked at repeatedly and wanted to rear-end so badly, looked to be the most innocent old woman the planet had ever given birth too.

Guilt. Utter-failing pride, and deep seeded guilt struck every fiber of my heart and artery. I felt so bad for the old lady. Who the fuck am I to be honking at a 60-somethin' gal just trying to get to Minneapolis and escape the dull of St. Paul. Who the hell am I to be so anxious that I had to lay on the horn for half the entrance from downtown St. Paul to 94 West.

Perhaps, I could practice some patience in the meantime... too...

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