On the road
I somehow find myself in a minivan, with some other researchers, heading to a foreign city for a conference. I watch detachedly as I get up at 5:30 in the morning, pack an overnight bag, shower, put on a suit, grab a terrible coffee from the only open place I see, and head towards the meeting point.
A rebelious part of me, the part that refuses in any way to be shackled by life, held back by responsibilities, and let down by adulthood wakes up at some point during the packing. He shudders when he sees me packing a pajama and groggily grabs for his music; a lifeline through the fourth dimension of my existence.He refuses to take it off while showering, shaving, teeth-brushing, dressing, and commuting. At the meeting point, he relents and allows me to utter a few incomprehensible words to my colleagues. The headphones come back on. Skip Ashkenazy playing Chopin and move on to Angra.
Laptop on, browse through photos for flickr. Type up blog post.
It’s been a winding trip that’s led me to this minivan, and this new life. Sometimes, I don’t really understand my choices, sometimes I doubt them, and my abilities. Still, i’m on the minivan, aren’t I?
