Disclaimer: Nope, I still don't own the Lone Gunmen they still belong to the people at 1013 and Fox Network, and James Bond is still Fleming's.
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There is a strange stillness about Northern Michigan. Driving up I-75 at three in the morning makes one painfully aware of her thoughts when she hasn't the noise of other drivers, or any other distractions commonplace in the city. The only company she has are the rows upon rows of trees eerily ordered in straight lines by the CCC like giant red-headed soldiers telling crude jokes in the wind.
As single thirty-one year old librarian and an avid self-help and feminist reader I should have known that I shouldn't have been traveling alone and I should have known where I was going before I set out. As a connoisseur of Tolkien, C.S Lewis, and J.K Rowling I couldn't sit in my mum's home in Detroit and watch my dignity be drowned by every single friend, no pun intended, I've ever had who turned the dark side and got married. "Mary Pat when are you getting married?" "Mary Pat, you know Mark has a brother I should introduce you too sometime."
Okay so four hours later my trip seemed very neither literary nor exciting. I forgot the part where Harry Potter stopped at gas station to buy some Maxi Pads and a bottle of Tylenol form a spooky guy who kept looking at his bust.
The drive did wonders for my nerves, I no longer desired to plunge into the depths of Lake Michigan, and my raging homicidal urges were no longer directed at family and innocent by-standers, only the occasional rude driver and ex-boyfriends. I could have written my own self-help Bible, Driving Away From Misery to Adventure!.
I really had calmed down, not to the point of going back but to the point of stopping to get a map and a bag of skittles, a normal routine which is a step to recovering from insanity, Dr. Lendy would be proud. I think it is important as I'm writing to stress that I am not an impulsive person with the exception of Boxing Day shopping and buying books in hardcover when I know the next month they'll be out in much cheaper paperback form. This was an extreme case of hopelessness as boy-friend-who-must-not-be-named broke up with me.
It's an obnoxious feeling when a girl's own boyfriend decides he'd rather not come to Christmas dinner but in fact would like to break up with her because all the medications he taken have probably made him impotent anyway making her all the more useless. Then when the girl is left to explain to family and friends that her Nyquil slurping boyfriend has left her and no she did not make him up. "Oh Mary Pat, that's such a lie!" "Really Mary Pat you're too imaginative, a better excuse is he's got a cold or he's married."
It's like the Evil Lord Boyfriend said "Life's hell babe, but only a hell for those smart enough to comprehend it's Hell the rest of them hut idle around in their own filth aimlessly."