I love driving. It's the one time I truly get to be alone. It is relaxing despite the dense sunlight in my eyes. I change the radio station till I hear something I know the words to. It takes longer and longer these days. Eventually I find something that sounds either familiar or catchy, after all what’s the difference?

On my way home I forget about the box in the back seat and relax. I forget about work and the bills and where I'm going. I think about where I've been. I delude myself for a bit about where I want to be and where I wanted to be. The road less taken I suppose. The road never taken is what it really is. It doesn't really matter in the long run. It was a long day.

Then again, days just seem long lately. Long and dull and routine, everything is just routine. The ceaseless droning that doesn't stop. The coffee samplers. The socks, everything that remains the same. Even me. I drive past houses on my street. Driving is like autopilot, like breathing. I don't need to think about it anymore, it just happens. It just is. I am Zen itself when driving. My car and I are one, despite its large blue, square, hard exterior and my pinkish yellow round and smooth exterior. Inside we are one. A series of mechanisms that move together, dancing fluidly as one.

I glance out the window and see the houses slowly moving past me, or maybe it is vice versa, I suppose its relative really. The dull glow of the television can be seen out of most of them. I must be the only person on my street who doesn't watch television anymore.

I come in the door, my children run up to me. Joshua and Julia. What was my fascination with naming them like that? Same first letter. It wasn't really my fascination, it was my husbands. I suppose it could be worse, I could have given them rhyming names, like some people name their twins. I wanted to name them Romulus and Remus, but my husband would have none of that. So then I decided on Artemis and Apollo, similarly, no go.

"Mommy!" Goodness, they don't even look like either of us. Where did those green eyes come from? They wrap their arms around my neck as I lean down to them. I plant a kiss on their cheeks. My family is incredible non-despondent. Maybe it's the lack of TV.

"What did Daddy make for dinner?" They stare at me a moment with those big green eyes of their and blink a couple of times. "Daddy?" Why do they do that? Didn't I give them separate identities, the ability to speak as individuals? They run across the house singing their daddy song.

"How was work honey?"

"Not bad"

"Did you get that new project done?"

"Not quite." This is a lie, but it’s easier than saying I have had my work done for the week for the past three days.

"Did you finish that new piece you were working on?" He stood there, grinning like a child who had just discovered some new and exotic food, a twinkie or something.

"Close your eyes."

"That's silly, just show me."

"Close your eyes."

"Fine."

He kisses me and places two objects into my hand. I look at them. One is a crescent moon with a raise bow and arrow on it, the other a full sun with a chariot embossed on it. "For the kids."

"You're taunting me with this."

"No, just me way of apologizing for naming them how I wanted."

"This is cruel."

"I love you, darlin."

"I love you too, but it's still cruel."

He saunters off after the kids. "Joshua! Julia!" I hate when he does that. I've gotten used to it though. He refers to me as honey, darlin' or mommy now. I don't think he's called me by my name since the children were born and named.

The children come running to him. They adore him. Julia hops into his arms. Her blondish reddish, brownish hair against his cheek as she squeezes his neck tightly.

"Mommy wants to know what you made for dinner."

"I was thinking of making chicken."

"You didn't make anything yet?"

"Nope I didn't." Why is he so damned honest?

So I search the freezer for something easy to fix, and fast. I didn't eat lunch, I almost never eat lunch. The freezer is strangely barren. It is not empty by any mean, just barren. Everything within looks dull and bland despite the colorful packaging and the smiling faces of the otter pops strewn about the interior. I choose the plainest package just to spite the colorful, smiling otter pops. Fish Sticks. While the though is less than appealing, I won't renig on it. Fish sticks are by no means a complete meal, even the thought of it is unsatisfying. Maybe that's why I don't eat lunch. Fish Sticks make a perfectly acceptable lunch on their own.

So, fish sticks it is. I dump them onto a tray and put them into the oven to cook for the second time. "Mommy! Mashed potatoes!"

"Ok. Mashed potatoes then."

"Mommy! Green beans!" I smile. I have the only children in the world that aren't satisfied with fish sticks on their own either. For a moment, they look like me.

Dinner is on the table and everyone is looking around at each other, enjoying pleasant conversation. When did my kids become so old? They are only four, but I swear the things that fall out of their mouths. "Mommy, today we learned how to smelt! Daddy showed us."

"Oh? Really? Did he now?"

"Yes."

She holds out a small piece of gold that looks like a piece of drool. "I made it myself. Isn't it pretty?"

"Yes dear. Did you wear the big gloves so you couldn't burn yourself."

"Yes, daddy says they’re dragon gloves! From real dragons! Special so I don’t burn."

"Dragons eh? Well, I guess you’re safe then."

"Mommy, today I finished my book. You know, the one about the lions."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I didn't like it. It was childish and stupid. Will you take me back to the library and help me pick out some books? You have better taste than the librarian."

"Of course I will."

And so dinner goes. My family holding a pleasant conversation, enjoying each other. I feel strangely outside of it all. I am not here during the day and I think sometimes I am missing everything good. Why don't they fight? Why do we all get along? Is it because I am never here? Probably. My own family started to get along after I left too. Spending time together, not like when I was there. I went home to see my parents and it was surreal to say the least. Maybe I am the only one who is despondent.

I clean the dishes.

"Honey, I love you."

"I love you too."

"Will you tuck the kids in?"

"You know I always do." I feel him kiss the back of my neck. I hate when he does that. It makes me cringe.

I hate not being able to see what's going on. Shivers run through my body and I shudder uncomfortably.

Its 9:00. I have to be up in 9 hours to go to work. The thought is daunting.

Suddenly I remember the package in the car. I walk outside and get it, a few stray beanie babies have fallen out. I throw them into the box, scowling. My husband is thrilled at the box. For some reason the socks really excite him. I've never liked socks. I avoid them at all costs.

I get ready for bed as he wanders around the house in his new socks. As I lay down for bed, I pick up the book I keep on the dresser. I never really read it, so I haven't ever finished it. I don't really read in bed, it just helps me fall asleep.

My husband comes into the bedroom and kisses me softly on the lips. "I've been thinking about you today."

"Really?"

"Yes." He kisses me again. I know what this means, but as always I play innocent.

As we are making love, the light is on. I feel cold underneath the bleak light of the lamp. Goose bumps stand up on my skin and I try to cover myself. My husband looks at me for a moment and we continue to make love.

Is this making love? Would it be warmer in the dark? As we reach a fairly mutual cusp, we lay in each others arms just resting. He plays with my hair, brushing it off of my forehead. It falls back the second he lets go.

I grin.

"I love you."

"I know."

"You are the only one for me."

"I love you too."

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I sleep. I wake up.
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I hate mornings. I look and see I have no coffee. Damn it all. I look at the box. Fucking Christ.

I reach in and prepare an individually wrapped Christmas coffee sampler. I don't pay much attention to it. As I sip my coffee, I notice it is the one with the nativity scene. I close my eyes. It was a conspiracy. I knew it. It tastes horrible, I pour it down the sink.