It's like an explosion each time I roll over. The pain, it's delicate dynamite strapped to my shoulder. The slightest breeze will set it off.
But it's a good kind of pain. Sure is. A good kind of pain.
Hopefully, if I keep telling myself that, sooner or later I'll believe it.
I was doing 50 mph on the 101 when the little car sped past me. There was a slippery sheen of rainwater on the highway and I was keeping pace with two other cars next to me. The little car poked through us and raced on ahead.
I normally would be doing the same speed it was, but with this rain, I didn't want to risk it. "That driver is nuts," I told myself as it weaved through us.
I'm currently in training. It's for one of the toughest classes in life. It's called Raising A Family.
Surprised? You shouldn't be. In a way, we all are in training for this class.
I'm a commuter again. It's an almost-two-hour trip (one way) that I make with sleepy half-closed eyes and a yawning mouth.
This adventure of mine began when I moved back into San Francisco. I work in the South Bay area and lived down there during my first year of employment.
Weekly random rambles, musings & writings of Mike Lee in San Francisco, CA