My commute is a source of great discontent in my life.
Every day at approximately the butt crack of dawn, I have to get out of bed, get my two children out of bed and ready to go, drive them to school and then drive for forty-five minutes to get to work. This? Is on a good day. On a bad day, it’s more like an hour. Most of the time? It's a bad day. The traffic reports say things like, "The latest wreck of the morning is at such and such." Yeah. The latest one. That's not including the twenty that have already happened.
The thing that is the most annoying? Technically, I’m only about 23 miles from where I work. But the traffic? Oh. The. Traffic.
Coming home? At least an hour. If things are going well. Generally? They are not going well.
I don’t complain (much) about this because I have a good job, in terms of pay, and living in Tennessee has always meant, for me, a commute. When I lived in North Carolina it took me three minutes to get from my home to my office. Even less to get to college. I could literally walk to campus from where I lived (not that I DID walk or anything). But, I had to deal with the fact that I lived right in the middle of EVERYTHING, whereas now, I live in the middle of well, nothing. Except rednecks and unruly children of course. But it’s nice to have a yard and land and things like that.
When I was younger, I lived in this state (different city). I lived in City A and worked in City BFE because there were no jobs in City A. To be fair, I don’t believe there was even a stoplight in City A. But I also had to drive through City K to get to City BFE. Because City K didn’t have any jobs either.
But it’s part of living here. For me anyway.
My husband? His office is approximately 8 minutes from our house, which means he can get there in like, three.
He does not get my extreme frustration regarding the excessive amount of driving I have to do. Sometimes he says things like, “You like to drive!”
Yes, indeed. I do like driving. I do not, however, like buttnuggets who are driving twenty miles below the speed limit in the fast lane. And if those people and I are driving at the same time? There will be lots and lots of trouble.
This week he is helping out another office which is in a town approximately thirty miles away, as the crow flies. Last night he came home and said,
“Gah! I never want to have a forty-five minute commute again! This is ridiculous! If I get this store, we will HAVE to move closer!”
I turned around and looked at him to make sure that I wasn’t, you know, drunk or something.
He poured his water as though he didn’t just say something deserving of a crotch punch.
“Yeah, I know. I would never want a commute like that,” I deadpanned.
He was silent for a moment.
Then he said, “How long is your commute?”
I said, “At least an hour in the evenings.”
He was quiet for a moment and then said, hopefully.
“I love you?”