My head hurts. It’s not the kind of pain that needs medication or even a glass of water to cure. Inspiration is the relief I need. After starring at my MacBook Pro screen for several minutes I have decided that there is one elixir that will prime the creative process. I pack up my laptop and head towards the exit while pulling on my coat. It’s cold out there today. I lean into the door and feel the chilly breeze hit the exposed skin on my face and hands. What a difference a day makes here in Alberta. Just yesterday the snow was melting. I pick up the pace in an effort to get to the comfort of my car as quickly as possible.
The familiar beep notifies me at that my car was locked and is now unlocked. All too often I forget to the lock the doors. At least I got this right today. Reaching for the door handle I gingerly use my fingertips in a vain attempt to stay clean. Fail. My hand is coated in a grimy combination of wet dirt and salt from the underside of the handle. Great. I open the door, ducking my head and nestling into a very cold leather seat. Now what am I going to clean my hand with? Opening the glove compartment I see hand lotion, insurance papers, a Bible, phone charger and a pack of gum. No napkins in sight. I was sure I had some in here. I must have thrown them out the last time I cleaned the interior. This is one of the drawbacks of being a clean freak. Spaces may look organized but they lack preparedness for such an event. Note to self; buy some wet wipes. They are the Swiss Army knife of cleanliness and will come in handy when the kids are in the car. I decide to carefully grip the steering wheel with my palm, trying to avoid further mess.
Slipping the tiptronic gearbox into reverse with an almost imperceptible shimmy I glide out of my parking spot. As I engage the car into drive I use my muddy hand to pull the lever of my windshield washer fluid. I don’t want to get any filth on the lever, but I also don’t want to impair my vision. Sometimes a compromise must be struck. The wipers burst into action as the pale blue washer fluid cuts the dirt on the windshield. For the first few arcs of the wipers there is an audible scratch of the rubber blades cutting through the road grime, until finally the washer fluid has done it’s job of removing the bulk of it. Now all that’s left is the large spot at the base of my windshield on the drivers side and the strip at the top of my passenger side where the blade obviously doesn’t make contact with the windshield. This bothers me something fierce. Note to self: order the new wiper arms online-it’s way cheaper than the dealership.
Now on my way to my destination I turn on the radio. Without fail it’s set to the local sports station and all they can talk about is our team’s dismal play. I’m not sure why I subject myself to this inhumane torture. It must be out of bad habit. In this city it doesn’t matter what the time of year, hockey is the only topic that’s given any meaningful attention. My mind wanders. Searching. I need an idea! Then louder and with more urgency, Come on! I need an idea! With the flick of the signal light I check my shoulder and turn into a nondescript strip mall. Seems every strip mall in North America has a fast food restaurant, pedicurist and coffee shop. I look for the closest parking spot I can, but when nothing is available I pull through into a spot where I can make a quick getaway without needing to put my car into reverse. This is how spies park, or so I think.
I walk towards my destination. I don’t need a pedicure, but I am craving creative stimulation in a cup. I lean into the door and am met with a burst of warm air on my face followed by the tantalizing and invigorating smell of freshly ground coffee. Instantly I am hit with a bolt inspiration. I know what I will write about!