Lost in Ashland

Normally when I write these entries, I write about being lost in Somerville and calling PunkRockMom to give me directions to get the hell out of Dodge, or at least back to Prospect Street. Tonight, "Ms. Darcy" and I were driving back from JR's wedding rehearsal dinner out in Ashland, and we got lost for 45 minutes trying to find our way back from the hall to the highway.

It is one thing to get lost in the city, where things are well lit, and there are gas stations or Store 24s where you can pull over and get your bearings or ask for directions. The middle of Metro West is a whole other story, driving around on dark winding roads where you need to have your high beams on until a car coming the other direction, with its high beams on, forces you to cut the lights and drive blind for a moment or two. We had to retrace our steps not once, but twice, when we finally found a man getting into his car in Ashland Center who told us how to get to Route 9, and, from there, the Pike. (Bless him.)

I don't like being lost, and I really don't like being lost in the dark in the middle of nowhere, or what feels like the middle of nowhere. Being lost tonight reminded me of high school, driving out to friends' houses in Berlin or Southington, that were out in the middle of cornfields, at least in comparison to New Britain. As much as I think that I like the country, I really am a city girl at heart. I like my street lights, I like my taxi cabs, and I like my Starbucks.

I don't know if Ms. Darcy had noticed, but I was driving with my jaw tightly clenched until we finally got on the Pike, even when I was talking. I am convinced that some archeologist, many years from now, is going to find my skeleton and based on the state of my teeth, hypothesize I had some dietary thing going on - like I was a vegetarian - when in reality, I had ground my teeth into a pulp from stress and tension. My poor teeth!!