Hovering

Is it strange to have maternal instincts toward one’s car? I think I’m having those. Maybe I’m just at that age and have no child to direct those feelings to. Maybe I woke up on a strange side of the bed this morning. I feel excited today, though I’m not sure about what. I’ll take it, though. I was stuck in an Eleanor Rigby loop earlier with all the lonely people, where do they all come from. I’ve since moved on to Broadcast, into an unreal place filled with candy and shiny objects. Throw in some cheese and ice cream and need I ever leave this place? Speaking of which, need anyone ever leave their homes? Last night I was reading the Sunday New York Times New Jersey Section. In an article about grocery store marketing, a woman said she prefers to call in her order and pick it up; that way she doesn’t have to bring the kids. What is she doing in the meantime? I know, people are busy, everyone is busy, busy, busy, busy. It’s a pain in the ass to bring the kids to the grocery store; it’s also a pain in the ass for other people who happen to be in the grocery store to have to hear the screaming and contort to maneuver around those kids. But that’s just part of life, which, though it may be a source of irritation, is something to love about living. Suck it up and enjoy the ride, unless of course you live in New Jersey or somewhere equal or worse in the way of roads and traffic. Then, suck it up anyway, or move. I think of Grace out there in that big dangerous hospital parking lot and I want to bring her inside with me. I think of her on that packed and gritty 287 homeward and workward and want her to hover over it all. Do you want to take a ride in my hovercraft? I learned how to say that in Italian before I went to Italy. I didn’t use it once.