Thoughts on Driving Home, Making Faces, and Hopeless Romantics

Having a car has given me a lot of freedom. Granted, I've only had it since November, but Trixie (because she reminds me of the triceratops from Toy Story 3 somehow) has fulfilled that milestone that the movies claim happens when you turn sixteen and get your license. It's the last sense of accomplishment before graduation and college. But really, getting a first car can happen at any time. The faux belief that every kid gets their first car from their parents at sixteen rarely occurs anymore.

Driving home after work is how I detox. I can sing to anything, dance like I'm in my room, and just be in my own oblivious bubble. There's the option to grab some food, hang with friends, or swing by the library and peruse the music shelves or pick up those holds. After a long day of supervising people, being cheery, and answering questions from both superiors and coworkers alike, I want and need time by myself. I don't have to feel like I've got people to entertain and make sure we're hitting our numbers. I can just be me.