My mother and I, for reasons too logistically complex to explain here, decided the wisest course of action in getting me to Seattle this year would be to road trip there. We packed my mother’s Rav-4 full with boxes, suitcases and road trip food and headed north. We left on Sunday morning and arrived today. Two nights and three days. Not bad. Not good.
It is my belief that it is a very all-American thing to do, a road trip. In this case I am not all-American. I don’t really like road trips. I know everyone’s all hippy-dippy, bumper-sticker-slogan, I-have-a-guru-who-tells-me-crazy-shit-to-make-me-feel-better-about-my-wayward-life but “Life is about the journey not the destination” is a crap sentiment. It is. It just plain is. If I’m going to Seattle I don’t want it to take three days. I wanna goddamn be there inmediatamente, por favor. Especially when everyone I know in Seattle keeps texting me about when I’m gunna be there already, and everyone in back home is all sad I left. I either wanna be in Seattle or I wanna be in my home town. None of this transitiony-limbo crap.
Road trips are hard. I just don’t like them. I wouldn’t say I don’t like traveling but I don’t like traveling… For example… I like traveling to Mexico to sit on a beach in a foreign land where mocha men can serve me cold drinks with brightly colored umbrellas in them. I just don’t like traveling to Mexico on a BART train to get to the airplane, an airplane to get to a cab, and finally a cab to the hotel. It’s the moving around that I don’t like. And well that’s kinda the point of a road trip…
I like being here and there. I like point A and point B, it’s the route from one to the other I could skip. That’s why it is my firm belief that I teleportation should be every inventor’s first priorities. Beam me up, Scotty.
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