Memoirs of a dilly-dallier

I tend to take life rather slowly in most contexts, perhaps too slowly at times….which is why I find it rather ironic that I have such a wretched habit of speeding.

That’s right, I speed.  I said it.

This is nothing if not amusing, and also somewhat bothersome on a variety of levels.  I mean, if I’m going slow-n-steady the rest of the time, why not enjoy the benefit of being a pokey driver and thus avoid dreaded traffic tickets?

To be fair, I have somehow miraculously avoided receiving all but one ticket in the 14 years I’ve been on the road, a grace I neither deserve nor really understand.

Purely unintentional,  this incessant speeding of mine occurs most often whilst in that peaceful, zoned-out state of mind wherein I find I am quite content to be occupied (if not lost) in deep thought about goodness-knows-what.  This is the internal place I go to ponder, and also consequently remove myself from the rest of reality.

Observe,  the face of one driving in the Zone:


So then, suddenly, something will wake me from my delightful stupor and I will start to wonder why all the cars around me seem to be going so slowly.  I then glance down at odometer, whisper a word I shouldn’t say, and quickly reduce my speed.

Apparently when left to herself devoid of my mind’s direct supervision, my right foot becomes quite the mischief-maker.  Who would have known? My dear foot, you shall be the end of me someday.

Perhaps she is the one little part of me that does not fit with the rest, the rebel that loves to break away, run, and hightail it towards some good solid foolish fun when I’m not looking. She’s normal I suppose, reminding me that sometimes speed is not altogether bad.  The rest of me finds some sort of peaceful satisfaction in a pace of life so foreign it may be unrecognizable to some.  This world is faster than what I’d prefer most of the time, which often inclines me towards quiet open spaces where things seem to make more sense somehow.

I don’t want to get a million things done in a day.  I want to contemplate, stare at things far too long, watch and wonder, listen, touch, and otherwise dilly-dally until there’s nothing else to ponder there.  I am dreadful at getting somewhere in a rush, unless I’m driving (but of course that is my mind’s fault for losing track of my rogue foot.)

If left to myself I may spend an hour staring at the sky if no one is there to draw me away from it.  I am an obnoxious slow-poke when it comes to walking anywhere, and am happy to be scooting along with no destination whatsoever, save the step ahead in the road before me.  It is all rather inconvenient really, not at all practical.  My roommates in college got some good laughs out of my ridiculous habits though, didn’t we Q? (;

Do not ever go to Disneyland with me.  Please, spare yourself the misfortune.

I mean it.  Once I found these flower lamps over by the mint julep bar in New Orleans Square and spent who-knows-how long just doting over them while my friends went on the Matterhorn six times.

Now, to me this seems a very reasonable, worthwhile thing to do with one’s time at Disneyland, but I have yet to find anyone who might agree with me.


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