18 hours, it takes. You can do them in one day, if you're dedicated. If you really want to get from Rockford to Boston.
Motivation is the key. Getting up at 4 am to leave, your car already packed with compact discs, gaming books, Hefty bags full of clothes, is crucial. You won't want to do any last minute packing, because you'll need to shower, leave your skeleton key on the stand near the front door, and say goodbye to the cats.
Well, she's asleep, and it's better if you don't say goodbye anyway. You remember when you moved here, and you slipped into the house on that rainy April morning like an intruder. It wasn't your house then. You made love, rain falling on the 100-year-old roof, trying to make it feel like a home.
The ride can be easy. Three fillings of the tank, two stops for food, three stops for excretion. Try to compound as many of these stops as possible.
You may receive AM stations from New York City in the middle of Indiana before the sun's EM radiation cooks the signals. This will be weird.
Mountain roads in Pennsylvania. Five hours of deadening boredom, dodging 18-wheelers and listening to talk radio, sports, tiny little stations whose signal cuts out whenever you drive behind a colossal mound of earth thrust up many ages ago, ancient ferns turning to coal, slumbering under the Appalachians.
And then you enter familiar territory. New England. Old steeples in Danbury. The madness of I-84, Connecticut drivers somehow worse than their Massachusetts counterparts.
The Mass Pike makes you feel free. The Boston skyline fits into you like the last piece of a jigsaw.
When you come home, there is a pizza from Revere Beach waiting. It tastes better than you remember. It's September now, and you are back. And you will not leave again.
Felt great to write that, though. Liberating. In fact, I'm surprised at how fondly I can remember an 18-hour drive after getting dumped. I think it's because Boston was the Oz at the end of the road. :)
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Wow, I can't believe I'm posting this...
Motivation is the key. Getting up at 4 am to leave, your car already packed with compact discs, gaming books, Hefty bags full of clothes, is crucial. You won't want to do any last minute packing, because you'll need to shower, leave your skeleton key on the stand near the front door, and say goodbye to the cats.
Well, she's asleep, and it's better if you don't say goodbye anyway. You remember when you moved here, and you slipped into the house on that rainy April morning like an intruder. It wasn't your house then. You made love, rain falling on the 100-year-old roof, trying to make it feel like a home.
The ride can be easy. Three fillings of the tank, two stops for food, three stops for excretion. Try to compound as many of these stops as possible.
You may receive AM stations from New York City in the middle of Indiana before the sun's EM radiation cooks the signals. This will be weird.
Mountain roads in Pennsylvania. Five hours of deadening boredom, dodging 18-wheelers and listening to talk radio, sports, tiny little stations whose signal cuts out whenever you drive behind a colossal mound of earth thrust up many ages ago, ancient ferns turning to coal, slumbering under the Appalachians.
And then you enter familiar territory. New England. Old steeples in Danbury. The madness of I-84, Connecticut drivers somehow worse than their Massachusetts counterparts.
The Mass Pike makes you feel free. The Boston skyline fits into you like the last piece of a jigsaw.
When you come home, there is a pizza from Revere Beach waiting. It tastes better than you remember. It's September now, and you are back. And you will not leave again.
Re: Wow, I can't believe I'm posting this...
Re: Wow, I can't believe I'm posting this...