The walk from porch to vehicle invigorated me, mostly because of a three-foot slide on an icy patch. I threw my bag onto the passenger seat and squirreled my body behind the steering wheel. I could see nothing through the windshield but white. Engine started; grab the scraper; back outside.
Life in the midwest.
With the car pointed towards Liberty, I gave 30% of my active brain to the news. Another 5% fretted over not having left in time to stop for coffee and still get a handicapped parking space at the Clay County Courthouse. Whatever brainpower remained focused on the morning traffic on Interstate 435.
Just beyond Worlds of Fun, a merging truck forced me to the left.
My stomach lurched — hands tightened their grip — I signaled and craned my head sideways, a move that I don’t generally have. Drat drat drat! — is the highway slick? Slow down or accelerate?
I could hear my brother’s voice: Keep your g**damned foot off the g**damned brake. Let your car drive, let your car drive.
I made it past the rough moment and my heart stopped pounding. Note to self: Refill Digoxin.
The semi sailed on toward Des Moines, oblivious to the bile rising in my throat. But I’m not complaining: I made it, and continued my own journey, north to Liberty and one of my easy days, where the lawyers have their own lounge and access to all the bad coffee they can drink, and there’s no ringing phone in my little auxiliary office.
It’s the twenty-second day of the twenty-fifth month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.