I’m having one of those ‘same old, same old’ days today.
When the pedestrian routine of my daily life sucks the creativity out of my soul, I get a bit cranky.
Creativity takes energy and lots of it.
The neighborhood is blanketed in a vapid fog, an early morning pall of mist, as I drive away from the house.
It makes the drive to the train station a bit outlandish, eerily transforming the lights that line the highway into surreal alien ships from some cheesy 1970’s Sci-Fi flick.
I feel so tired and antique, an old man with younger skin that’s slowly on the verge of molting. My internal needle registers an ‘E’ and I’ve neither the money nor the slightest inclination to even put five bucks in my tank (even thought gas is now a measly $2.47 a gallon, go figure).
The various bumps and steady vibrations of the train usually lull me to sleep;
my 50 M.P.H. Boston Lullabye . . .
I’ve no doubt this morning will be the ‘same old, same old’.
My weary mind drifts along as I watch the steady blur of the rushing tracks outside my window.
As I close my eyes, I mentally cross my fingers and whisper to myself, maybe today. . .