| | I got my feet on the ground
And I don't go to sleep to dream
- Fiona Apple, Sleep to Dream
It happens sometimes, dreaming on the road.
I'd walk from A to D, only to arrive at D without a clue that I'd blown by B and C. Sometimes it's a good book. Other times it's an inspired story idea, pong-pong-pong-ing furiously behind my eyes. I think and dream, and have no idea what I encountered along the way.
But what's a little more cause for concern, is how I drive and dream.
Quite a few times, I'd drive from A to L, only to stop at the red light at L and wonder--hard--if I had stopped at the lights back at E, G, H, and K.
It seems that familiarity breeds the autopilot in me. There is space for me to, well, space out, think about weekends, think about naps, think about everything else other than the road. My eyes glassy, my legs no less jaded. And yet I cruise and inch along just fine, not scoring points on bicyclists or encouraging fender benders. It's just the jolt at L, and sometimes the chill running down the spine, that overcomes me. I get distracted easily. (It remains to be seen if I distract easily.)
Other people do it too, thankfully. Feffer drove me home this evening.
He almost didn't. He made to go straight at the traffic light outside my block.
"I think you turn here," I said.
"Oh!" And he promptly turned a sharp right. "Sorry, spaced out a little there. Was just gonna keep going down Forbes."
"So'right."
"Shoot. I was supposed to turn left, wasn't I?
Ah, God is funny. I know what dejavus are, but what to describe these spacing outs? Dejas?
What is a little more freaky than autopilot driving, is recommending Bowling for Columbine to Amy's friend the night before the Virginia Tech massacre.
I was driving from A to L that day, fully aware of every point in between. 22? Must be dreaming. 33? Bloody hell. It's no dream.
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| | Posted 4/20/2007 12:07 AM - 82 Views - 4 eProps - 3 comments
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