"I am at a loss to conceive how a man should permit himself to write anything that would be truly disgraceful to a woman, or why a woman should be censured for writing anything that would be proper and becoming for a man."

14 October 2010


Anyone in the LA area who must commute daily from the east valley to anywhere on the west side knows what a clustermess it is right now. Every avenue of getting over the hill and to any area within a three-mile radius of the 405 is completely backed up. I've left my home at 7:40, 7:30, 7:20, 7:15... no matter when in that window I leave, no matter what route I take, my morning commute lasts 75-90 minutes. Every day. The same commute home rarely takes more than 45.
This morning I attempted one of my remaining two avenues of 'escape' from these horrors. Reduced driving time to about 55 minutes, which is comparable to life prior to bridges being demolished and school being back in session. The elation at a possible alternative (that doesn't leave me wanting to take a high-caliber automatic weapon to 98% of the drivers in LA) actually underscored something in the drive which reached deep within me to a much darker, yet pleasanter, place.
While driving along Mullholland, my car became enveloped in the more-than-regular-marine-layer fog which has draped itself across the area on recent mornings. Though part of me trembled inside at the absolute dissolution of all homes and hills contained in the view that stretch of road ordinarily provides, outwardly I found myself cackling maniacally at the incredible power a simple concoction of air and water vapor held -- making the world round me shrink to just the road in front of me, hills or an occasional house on one side of me, and cliffs to nowhere on the other. Several times I found myself contemplating what might happen if the road and fog just kept going and I never reached my work because it no longer existed. Nothing on that drive existed except me in my little sedan, the road, and the fog.
Were I a 'normal' individual terms such as 'eerie' 'creepy' 'macabre' 'desolate' might frighten me as they jumped into my brain during this drive. Was I freaked out? A little bit, deep down inside. Did I like that feeling? You bet your fog spewing sky I did. I reveled in it. When I finally began descending the hill and houses and trees returned to view, it saddened me. Granted, had this occurred in the dark, my reaction might not have been so elated -- and when civilization started sprouting around me again and I noticed deer crossing signs I reflected on how devastating a deer jumping out of that fog would have been. Still, I think nature served me well this morning in reminding me of my Child of the Gothic status.

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