Night drive.

It's like flying. In the dark, the lights speed past me like a stream of living stars. Between the warmth of two bodies, staring with wide eyes at the night in front of us, I pull my knees up under my chin and watch with wonder in my eyes at the misapplied beauty of the highway. In front of me, pairs of red lights scatter and skip. Like the eyes of some strange beasts, they back away as we advance. We follow them and weave between them as though we are one of them.
In my pocket of soothing music I feel as though I no longer exist. With my view between the seats and the images rushing towards me, and the movement I can feel through the windows on either side, the sensation of motion is enough to pull me from my body and deposit me in a place of sound and sensation that lulls me into a wide-eyed sleep. I sit with my arms wrapped around my legs, and rest my chin on my knees. Even as I relax, still and quiet, I am tearing through the night with the stars.

And the only thing that keeps me from flying off with the tide of lights is the flickering movement that jumps to catch my attention as my companions shift and move and shuffle next to me.

Car journey

Everything changes when you’re ill, you know? Curled in the back of the car, with a thick scarf and a blackberry lollipop, watching the cars cruise along around me, and I suddenly realize that what the man in the van behind sees is a twentyish year old female snuggled up against a fluffy cushion with a lollipop in her mouth. And suddenly I feel small. Small and stupid. But then, do I care? My head is sending abort signals to my stomach, my throat and nose are refusing to cooperate, and behind my eyes a group of industrious little men are building up a great thumping pile of weight-soaked sponges that just sit. And seep an ache into my jaw and along my teeth. No, I do not care. Rather, I relish the childish lack of consideration for other’s opinion.
Besides. I like blackberry lollipops.