are we there yet

the drive is an hour, forty minutes at night
i crave the unreasonable commute i was promised
i long for the interminable commute i was promised
i wish it were longer; i wish it went on forever

and it can last forever - as long as a long day, and an even longer week

i get so anxious in the car
(- a healthy amount of fear should for sure be felt while driving)
no like i get in the car and i sit in the back with my hands between my knees and don't speak unless spoken to, if that
(- my point stands. you are in a car. a healthy amount of fear is okay. an anxiety response is not.)
no! i'm afraid of the guy driving, and not because he's a bad driver

so perhaps the ride is very long indeed

we pass the house with the skyrocketing electric bill
(i'm not five years old, but all the same, to be regarded as a child getting treated to an attraction...)
we make a u-turn in the middle of an interstate highway
(endless tales of horrible drives, and i know that this is less than an inconvenience, in all)

are we there yet? we are here, together

we quest for parking, around and around
(parallel to innumerable places, wedging into impossible spaces)
we bundle in and out, disassembling the trunk
(quarters in my wallet, a city holiday; quarters in the meter, i nearly blow away)

are we there yet? we got here, together

we are all raincoats and handwarmers and bag lunches and jump seats
we are conversation and we are silence
we are four cars deep into the assembly line

we could go there, together. we are going there, together.

the front seat is having a separate discussion
the middle seat is less spacious than the rear, more talkative
the loneliest place of all is the center of the moving car

i cannot imagine arriving alone. i cannot imagine departing from this forever.