Hurry

Date: 7/7/2023

I had to hurry to my mom’s house before she got angry or something. She seemed to already be a little bit. I was driving her red Ford Focus, breakage and all. I zoomed up the backroads to the house, for a few seconds. The spark plugs started slowing the car uphill and I gritted by teeth as I reached the top, relieved when it gained speed on the way back down. I had pulled out in front of one of the long trucks and worried it would ram into the car’s ass. Somehow I ended up needing to collect random stuff per my mom’s request on my way home (muffin boxes in trees). I had only collected five boxes with three each in them before the snowy tree started to break with my weight. I drove back home. Eventually, I felt sick and/or disconnected from car, so I stopped in front of the market. I observed the sky as it was unusually grey and raining. My face reflected the weather—stoic. My mom called and asked if I was still on the way, and she sounded kind of miffed. I told her yes, and reluctantly resumed my drive back home. I was met with a golden-lit, dark room. My mom was there, waiting for me. I can’t recall her mood about my presence though. She wanted me to “hang up” the muffing boxes on the supposed Christmas tree. Like I were to just set the boxes in the leaves. It didn’t make any sense to me, but I guess she wanted to decorate differently this year.