Traffic: An Earth-shattering Delay

I hate traffic.

Just like I hate the blaring white screen of the Word document blinding my corneas at the moment. But, oh well.

Maybe it’s just the rush. The need to get somewhere and the uncontrollable urge to bypass the red blinking lights of fellow cars and make head for your destination.

Maybe it’s the dizzying emptiness in your stomach that makes you see red and feel like a hammer has permanently pounded on your skull.

Maybe it’s how you imagine getting out of the car, passing the unending line of motionless vehicles, and flying away to freedom.

You can’t control traffic. You are bound by the abruptness with which it appears in your life and the effect it has on you.

It is the irritation of being so close to a certain place or moment, and you have to be constrained by a stupid obstacle called bumper-to-bumper traffic.

You can’t help but feel the irritated, helpless, restlessness that crawls up your skin at the sudden barrier keeping you from reaching your goal.

That’s when the emotions kick in: Fury, disappointment, renouncement. The need you had to reaching something being interrupted.

Maybe this isn’t the best example, but life is a game of Shoots & Ladders, where obstacles and fall-downs are the embodiment of it all.

But, just like traffic, you always get to your designated point. No matter how long it takes, whether the delay was earth-shattering or the minimalist of sorts, whether your car breaks down in the process, you get there.

So this started out as me ranting about traffic after I ate a soup at Crepes&Waffles that created massive destruction in my stomach and a nauseating emptiness in me, and how endless traffic did not help the situation and made me feel all the more miserable.

But I ended up taking a profound detour into the bottomless depths of how traffic relates to perseverance in everyday life.

See? So I’m not just a ball of sarcasm and fluff all wrapped up into one dense un-surfaced ball. It turns out, there’s actually more to me than that.

Or at least I like to think so.

My mom would be so proud.