Eight hours by myself, on the road. That's what I have in front of me today.
With that in mind, I'll give myself license to indulge in all manner of Starbucky treats. Girl's gotta stay awake, after all. I'm kind of excited. The Rabbit's got cruise control, a six-cd changer, and as-yet unused air conditioning.
I've got plenty to think about, too. There's a lot going on-- mostly good, partly bad-- that I can consider and debate internally. What is the life I'm going to make for myself? Where does that highway lead to? Am I right? Am I wrong? I'll ask myself, "What will I be?"
Will I be pretty,
Will I be rich?
And I'll tell myself, tenderly...
Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que sera, sera
And then I'll feel like a prize idiot for a hot minute, having not only asked myself questions and answered them (aloud), but having answered myself in a Doris Day song.
Then I'll probably start singing another song. And it will probably be a Shirley Bassey number.
GOOOOOLD- FINGAHHHH (dun dunnn dun dunn)
HE'S THE MAN, THE MAN WITH THE MIIIIIIIIIDAS TOUCH
It's so cathartic.
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