It was frigid, frosty cold this morning. And, it was obvious from the driving practices on the freeway that everybody was angry about being forced to crawl out of a warm bed, get dressed, and schlep their way into work.
People were driving like they wanted to be late, poking along, hitting the brakes often. Red lights illuminating the road like angry fireflies signaling their displeasure. "I have to go to work, but I don't have to be on time. And, neither do you!" flashed in Morse Code from the tapped pedals. Which is an accomplishment, try it sometime.
It was a little uncomfortable at first, driving on a freeway filled with homicidal, angry children rocketing (or barely inching) along in self propelled battering rams. My only thoughts were of my own safety, I am selfish that way. I have too much to live for, no one can fill my shoes.
But, Dylan came on, singing "Silvio," and we can jammed together all the way to the I-71 split.
"I (we) can tell you fancy, I (we) can tell you plain,
You give something up for everything you gain,
Since every pleasure's got an edge of pain,
Just pay for your ticket and don't complain."
And the world made sense again. Somehow, Siri, Dylan and I had tamed the savage beast of an arctic Monday, an unruly, petulant commute, and an ice floe across my windshield. I would pay for my ticket, and enjoy my day. And I found this little bit of icy artwork in the stairwell at work. What a great day, huh?