Fixin'

I pull up to the drive-thru window of Starbucks. Shining in the window's reflection the late afternoon sun lowering in a seductive dance shrouded in blue silver layers of soft clouds.

I can feel the need for a fix coming. The intoxicating waft of the caffeine-laden air hits me as the windows slide open with a mechanical whirl.

Even before I take a sip of the iced venti nonfat caramel macchiato, I am feeling the rush. The urge swells in me and I scramble to find a pen and any piece of paper. Ah! The receipt from the coffee. I start scribbling down the scene as I drive out of the parking lot.

"Shit! The light is green! Why can't I hit a red light when I need one?" I mutter to myself.

I wind my way through the traffic with pen in hand and paper on lap, praying for red lights so I can get more down. Chicken scratch comes out of the pen as I arrive at my destination. I grab my coffee and my pen and paper and rush in so I can write some more before the meeting starts. I jot down more notes than usual during the meeting trying get that fix in another way. Meeting over, I race to get back to my car and start to write more, almost compelled to get down my thoughts.

"Damn! I need more paper!" A personalized note pad from my sister-in-law. I keep going.

I speed home back to my laptop so I can make the words permanent, real, posted. As I pull into the garage, my heart starts racing. I ignore the dogs, and the need for water, food, and bathroom, and hit the keys. Nothing matters until I can hit "Publish". That's when the rush comes. That's the fix, stimulated by caffeine and fed by red lights.

Ahhhh.