Somehow, even though I've made this drive countless times, I still react to it the same way. It might be because I always drive it under similar circumstances - coming back to Santa Cruz at night, by myself, or with people close to me. The lake glistens under starlight as we glide through the 152, while the slight aroma of garlic circulates into the car from Gilroy's fields. And I feel like I am a part of the road beneath me, that this passage through the dark tunnel of time is more than an experience, but a state of being that is forever embedded in my subconscious.
I have no idea what I'm doing, how I got here, what to do next. Maybe it's because my recent days are spent in solitude, my nights in an empty house, and without the distraction of human interaction, I begin to overthink things. But I chose this for myself in order to ascertain something about myself, but it is something that will not crystallize.
I think I'm afraid of introspection - I distract myself and hesitate because I'm not ready to move forward. And by being productive, it means I'll be taking that first step. So I sit here instead, dillydallying, twiddling my thumbs, waiting until I gain the courage to begin.
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