It’s been 11 days since my last driving lesson.
I keep meaning to book another one and then I just don’t.
The lesson itself wasn’t even that bad. I stalled a couple times in the empty lot and the instructor laughed it off, said it happens to everyone. But I came home and kept running it back in my head anyway. The stalling, the way my hands froze on the wheel, the little pause before I could get the car moving again.
None of that is supposed to matter this much.
I also have a roll of film sitting in my bag. Been there for weeks now. Took it around the neighborhood on one of my walks, figured I’d finally see how the shots turned out, and now I just keep putting off dropping it anywhere to get it developed. I guess part of me would rather not know.
My days don’t have much shape right now. No job, no schedule, nothing telling me what comes next. So I sit with whatever happened and turn it over way longer than it deserves. One small moment from a random afternoon, and I’ve replayed it more times than I can count.
I thought having more time would make things easier to sort through. Instead I just have more room for the same few seconds to play on a loop.