The congestion today is the worst it’s been for months. These allergies have thrown a roadblock on my sinuses and it’s about as painful as trying to drive a truck through detours and road construction. My eyes are swollen to the point that I’d be afraid of trying to take public transportation anywhere for fear of stepping off the curb into a stream of oncoming vehicles. The only good side to that might be accidentally running into a roadside pharmacist trafficking in all the pollutants that might ease the gridlock of my nasal thoroughfares. What a rush-hour long relief from some of them.
Oh man, my eyes are fuzzy, blinking red and green spots, with flashes of yellow. I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus. Or a delivery truck. I hate being stuck, sitting here thinking, feeling like my life is going nowhere. Almost like I’m on auto pilot and in need of finding a new direction. I really should “brake” these pedestrian habits of mine, maybe take the car for a walk. Although, in order to insure that I can Navigat or function correctly, maybe that should wait until after I take my Benz adril.
Sure wish these little pills would accelerate through my system. It is high time I was somewhere doing something productive. This road I’m traveling, my journey through life, has left me exhausted already today. And I’m forgetting something; an emission of vast proportions, I fear. My brain seems befuddled, wrapped in a cloud of smog. Hopefully, that will pass and I can motor my way back onto the highway of normal life.
As I sit here, silent and still, looking out my window, I can see the neighborhood obviously hasn’t changed over night. All the same faces in all the same places. My next door neighbor has fired up her cell phone while she puts on her makeup for all to see. The guy next to her is enjoying breakfast. Looks like he may have transited through the golden arches.
"Jeep-ers Chrysler! Get the hell out of my way!”
Whoa, there, Mr. Mustang. Wonder what he’s upset about? Maybe his sinuses are backed up forever, too. Maybe he just needs a vacation; a chance to hit the road-rage through the wilderness, as it were.
Apart from the clogged, unyielding pressure I feel, it is a rather pleasant day as I sit here in the intersection of today and the rest of my expletive-expletive-reallylongstringofexpletives life. On the radio, The Cars are playing my favorite song: Drive.