I keep making wrong turns.
I am not talking about metaphorical “woe-is-reluctantly-suburban-me”, “how-the-hell-did-I-end-up-here” wrong turns.
I mean really, I keep turning in the wrong places.
In the town where I grew up, where I could probably have driven blindfolded 15 years ago. But that blind familiarity is kind of the root of my wrong way issues.
Last Friday on my way to the local craft brewery (which we did NOT have when I was younger – cheers to progress, Colorado style,) I was mentally checking off the running “to do” list for upcoming weekend plans and piloting the Keri-mobile along my merry way.
Until I put ‘er in park, grabbed my purse, put hand on door handle and stopped short.
I was in the high school parking lot.
THE HIGH SCHOOL PARKING LOT, FFS.
I always know where I am going, but, on certain roads, there are destinations so deeply engrained in who I am, that I just end up there without meaning to.
It happened A LOT with the house where I grew up in the first months after we moved here; I even ended up IN the driveway (my traditional high school parking spot,) one time. Can you imagine looking out the window of your home as some random lady pulled her ride up under your basketball hoop like she owned the joint? (Don’t worry – it is just that for so long, I kind of did. But maybe lock your doors so I don’t absentmindedly end up in my old garden level bedroom before I come to my senses next time.)
The old rec center, the Mexican restaurant where I worked, even the building where my bank was – I’ve ended up at all of them. It’s an internal autopilot I seem powerless to overcome.
Honestly, even if I am actively aware of where I am going, chances are still good that I won’t end up where I mean to in an efficient manner. Our little town is, frankly, not-at-all little anymore. That means roads. Lots and lots of new roads. “Take the second left past the park” is sort of how I get from A to B. That used to get me to the grocery store. But 3 new roads later, it got me into a hospital construction site. Every time I leave the house, I should probably pack a snack (well, there are the floor goldfish,) because who knows when I will find my way to where I am actually supposed to be!?
Evidently, I am on the road to 1993 in my mind. (Come to think of it, KBCO is still playing the same music, maybe I am being hypnotized by the Gin Blossoms.)
Pardon the doddering old lady in the parking lot, students of BHS.