Working without creating...

The iPhone car horn sounds at 6:15am. I silence the noise, only fighting the innevitable for the next 45 minutes. Shit. Now I have half an hour to prepare for work. I pour out of bed, my only desire is to remain balled up atop the 16 inch mattress tangled-up in the down-comforter. Flip the switch, turn the knob, drop my panties, open one eye to see if my abs are any tighter and step into the shower. And it's official, the work day has begun.

It's 7:45am and I'll spend the next 75 minutes tapping my break and learning the lyrics to BP3.

I fucking hate the suburbs. A white Toyta Forerunner passes on the right and I try not to look at the driver. Always the same story: another suburban commuter tapping on their phone or gripping the wheel out of terror (the ones really responsible for the fender-benders). But, I look through the window. A WF, "Chris" apparently since the licensce plate so cleverly reads, "4CHRIS."

Jay asks, "What we talkin bout real shit, or we talking bout rhymes. You talkin bout millions, or you talkin bout mine...?"

My imagination reels and I picture Chris on her 40th Birthday, happy to have her husband and friends around to celebrate-- or happy to have them divert her thoughts from that proverbial hill. After dinner and cake and wine Chris walks her guests to the door. Through bittersweet smiles of appreciation and botheration she steps out the door to wave farewell, and *gasp!* There, next to her hand-crafted mail box is a brand new white Toyota Forerunner! Chris looks back at the husband, his face glowing as he lifts both eyebrows two times. Chris walks towards the truck, hands stuck to her face, and says not a word. She examines the front, gently touches the paint and moves to the back. And there it is, the corney license plate that took my mind on a 30 second ride: 4CHRIS.

Really, I hate the suburbs.

8:00am, great, I'm still 45 minutes away and traffic is moving at a snail's pace. How can I waste another second collecting thoughts about the mundane? The mundane is closing in, and I'm only driving 30 mph.

Jesus, I've got to get back into the city.
Alicia tells me, "... there's nothing you can't do, now you're in New York. These streets will make you feel brand new, big lights will inspire you. New York, New York, New Yo-ork!"

The car is in 'park' and I turn the ignition off. I speed walk through downtown, walk up the escalator, turn on my computer and breathe.

Today I wore a red scarf and all black. I'm here to work, I have to be neutral. I'm here to work, not to be creative. I'm here to pay for my 65 mile daily communte. I'm here to nod my head, smile through the agitation and swollow my opinion.

Wait. Why am I here?

And this is when the ugly truth breaks the news: I'm here because I have to be. You know, daydreaming about the suburbs is a vacation compared to this.