Brain Dump

My first-day-on-the-new-job jitters created some interesting thought-soup during the drive in this morning. Previously, my morning commute thoughts were a sort of mental to-do list, a pep talk for the day, and a mad scramble to try to remember the great idea I’d had in the shower – I swear there’s some chemical in shampoo that makes me think better. This morning’s drive was entirely different and actually led to me thinking, “I gotta write this stuff down. It’s a record of my mental decline.” A passenger in my brain – or in the car, capturing my too-frequent audibles – would’ve heard this:


“It’s pretty bright at 8:45. You can’t see the deer jumping out at you at 5:30; 8:45 is pretty cool.”
Note: my start-time today was 9:30, it was 6am at my previous job.

“I wonder if there will be traffic on I-64.”

“These pants will fit great 5 pounds from now.”

“I sounded just like Thom Yorke on that line. Creep is a great song.”

“When my brother had long hair, he looked like a blonde Anthony Kiedis.”

“I’ve only got one bottle of wine left at home.”

“Push the fader, gifted animator, one for the now and eleven for the later…”

“This bra is going to annoy me by noon.”

“Push the skinny pedal, dude!”

“I hate this radio station.”

“I’m going to be late. I should’ve left earlier.”

“What if I hate the people I work with? What if they hate me?”

“Aw, Jesus…it’s a chicken truck. These birds are late! ”
Note: there’s a Tyson plant nearby. I used to encounter these towering 18-wheelers loaded with cages of chickens at least 3 times a week, at o’dark o’clock. A bit of fun that I was looking forward to doing without.

“I wonder if my boss will be able to hear my squeaky shoe over the click-clack of my heels.”

“Is there an accelerator in that piece of shit Chrysler or are you missing all the toes on your right foot?”

“Geez – looks like a pillow fight in the slow lane.”

“I wish I was still in my pajamas. No I don’t.”

"Shit."

“Pass the f***ing Chicken Truck already!”

"Is there always this much traffic on I-64?"

“Those chickens are filthy!”

“OK, what do all these people know that I don’t know? Why are they all doing the speed limit?”

“Def Leppard are all really old now.”
Note: this is when I realized that I was losing my mind.

“Get OUT of my lane!”

“State Trooper hiding in the trees in the median…so THAT’s why everyone is doing the speed limit.”

“I always miss this exit.”

“My feet are starting to hurt already.”

“I get hysterical, hysteria, oh can you feel it…”

“That guy’s listening to the same radio station. No way I look that stupid singing in the car.”

“F***! I missed the exit.”

“My stomach is going to start growling in a half hour. Everyone will hear it.”

“If I was in the Volvo, I’d jump that curby thing and get off here.”

“I’m not cooking dinner tonight.”

"Shit."

“What should I wear to work tomorrow?”

“BIG pothole.”

“When is it my turn to turn?”

“No way everyone in this lot is a visitor. Employees must be parking here illegally.”

“Where are my Altoids?”

“I’m 15 minutes early. Now what?”

So, I lit a cigarette – who’s going to tell me that I smell like smoke, I work for Marlboro for God’s sake – pulled a notebook and a pen from my tote bag and scribbled down what had been running through my head. I think I may need medication. This is an awful lot for a brain to race through during what turned out to be a 20-minute drive. And Jim thinks we should carpool; he’s in for a treat!