My daily commute time to work is an hour each way. The drive is long, but it is also incredibly uneventful. I realized the other day, that, although Wahiawa Elementary is 31 miles away from our home here in Laie, I could accurately give directions to my school by saying, "get onto Kam Highway, and drive straight. Turn left at the 7 Eleven, and the school will be on your left." Obviously, a lot has passed between our apartment and that 7 Eleven, but as long as you stay on Kam, you'll never get lost.
This incredibly boring and long commute has meant that I have spent hours and hours pondering over and analysing every relationship I have ever had with any friend, relative, or acquaintance I have ever known. With all honesty, if I have you in my friends list on Facebook, I can guarantee I have spent a good amount of travel time thinking about you.
This may sound like a truly heartfelt, sentimental, and romantic daily ritual, but I assure you it is not. I instead have rapid succession of numerous panic attacks while I consider every offensive and awkward part of our interaction.
At first I attempted to use music to distract myself from such awkward mental interactions, but that seemed to only heighten the experience, as music has such a strong connection with memory recall and storage.
Thus, I find myself rapidly shuffling through my iPod in an attempt to find anything that doesn't have a memory attached to it. Funny thing is, these memories don't have to be BAD to be an unpleasant trigger. Take my most recent example.
The song: Brighter Than the Sun by Colbie Caillat.
Inner monologue: man, I love this song. I used to run to it all the time. I was such a good runner. Hey, remember that one time that I ran with my friend and it was great, and she told me that she had seen Mr. Sexy-pants on campus recently? Remember how Mr. Sexy-pants was totally not into you, but you stalked him incessantly and tried to guilt you into interacting with him? OH MY GOSH, MELECE YOU'RE THE BIGGEST LOSER IN EXISTENCE! I bet Mr. Sexy-pants still thinks about how creepy you are. He probably has to go to therapy over you, his scary stalker who tried to get him to be interested in her. You are the reason someone is in therapy right now. You should probably contact him and apologize for putting him in therapy. I bet if you called him, though, he'd know you're still obsessed with him! How are you still obsessed with him, Melece? Woah now, I am NOT obsessed with anyone, especially not Mr. Sexy-pants! Really? Then why are you thinking about him. Right. Now?!
Oh how I hate driving, and that stupid little voice in my head.
This incredibly boring and long commute has meant that I have spent hours and hours pondering over and analysing every relationship I have ever had with any friend, relative, or acquaintance I have ever known. With all honesty, if I have you in my friends list on Facebook, I can guarantee I have spent a good amount of travel time thinking about you.
This may sound like a truly heartfelt, sentimental, and romantic daily ritual, but I assure you it is not. I instead have rapid succession of numerous panic attacks while I consider every offensive and awkward part of our interaction.
At first I attempted to use music to distract myself from such awkward mental interactions, but that seemed to only heighten the experience, as music has such a strong connection with memory recall and storage.
Thus, I find myself rapidly shuffling through my iPod in an attempt to find anything that doesn't have a memory attached to it. Funny thing is, these memories don't have to be BAD to be an unpleasant trigger. Take my most recent example.
The song: Brighter Than the Sun by Colbie Caillat.
Inner monologue: man, I love this song. I used to run to it all the time. I was such a good runner. Hey, remember that one time that I ran with my friend and it was great, and she told me that she had seen Mr. Sexy-pants on campus recently? Remember how Mr. Sexy-pants was totally not into you, but you stalked him incessantly and tried to guilt you into interacting with him? OH MY GOSH, MELECE YOU'RE THE BIGGEST LOSER IN EXISTENCE! I bet Mr. Sexy-pants still thinks about how creepy you are. He probably has to go to therapy over you, his scary stalker who tried to get him to be interested in her. You are the reason someone is in therapy right now. You should probably contact him and apologize for putting him in therapy. I bet if you called him, though, he'd know you're still obsessed with him! How are you still obsessed with him, Melece? Woah now, I am NOT obsessed with anyone, especially not Mr. Sexy-pants! Really? Then why are you thinking about him. Right. Now?!
Oh how I hate driving, and that stupid little voice in my head.
I am laughing. You are a great writer - love it! I have the same inner ramblings while I mow our 5 acres each week. One day you will have sorted through the anxiety stuff and all that will flow is great memories :) Enjoy that beautiful drive each day... When I drive down Kam Hwy I marvel at the beauty and the smell and just take it in knowing I have to return to them mainland at some point. Aloha!
ReplyDeleteMahalo nui loa! I hope I can continue to make you laugh ;)
DeleteOh, Kam Highway, I have such a love/hate relationship with it, but I know I'll miss it when we go mainland too. <3
I pride our relationship on how truly awkward it is. It's what makes us awesome. Me and my Hawaiian friend I've never met before but we know each other's lady business.
ReplyDeleteHahaha. So much lady business. You get texts updating you on my monthly cycle. Can't get much more awkward! Bahaha
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