Bruce Banner.  The Fugitive.  Caine.  Whether I’m running, chasing, or wandering, it’s a self-imposed isolation made less desperate through motion.  All I need is an excuse and I’m off.

Step Five: admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

For me, holing up has always been my go-to solution.  I’d even make up problems just to solve them through solitude.  The weird part is, the separation works.  I get to reset, calm down or charge up, depending on the situation, and re-enter the general stream of consciousness that exists in the day-to-day world.  The problem becomes one of timing; I quite often overstay my welcome in Aloneville; a town I should be passing through, not looking to put down roots and set up shop.  Because my shop is at the end of a dead-end alley, and only offers outdated produce and crazy self-assertions.

It’s an odd wrong to be admitting to, but it’s at the core of all my problems: I’ve never known when to leave well enough alone.  Overdoing something often seems like the only way to do something, even if that means destroying the very thing I love in the process.

Today and for the future:  Set a timer.  Sometimes it’s that literal.

One thought on “the highway is my way.

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