the art of driving.

me. dad. empty church parking lot at 6 am. right turns. brakes. accelerator. reverse.

i've already finished my first year in university, but this is only my second time behind the wheel (unless you count that disastrous go with the legoland cars in windsor, when i was really little...).

and although i'm not particularly fond of that behind-the-wheel feeling (it stresses me out...i wish driving wasn't so necessary around here...), i'm beginning to understand it.

it's  like an art form, painting perhaps: sharp turn here, use some of that blue paint straight out of the bottle; straighten out the wheels, soften the edge with some white; oops, going a little too much to the left there, better add some orange; get closer to the curb, fine tune it with a smaller paintbrush...


"'Music -' said Lucy, as if attempting some generality.  She could not complete it, and looked out absently upon Italy in the wet.  The whole life of the South was disorganized, and the most graceful nation in Europe had turned into formless lumps of clothes.  The street and the river were dirty yellow, the bridge was dirty grey, and the hills were dirty purple. Somewhere in their folds were concealed Miss Lavish and Miss Bartlett, who had chosen this afternoon to visit the Torre del Gallo."- A Room With A View