the road to nothingness

So here’s the deal: I’m stuck. I’m in the proverbial rut and I’m spinning my tires. They won’t budge. I tried stepping out of the vehicle to take a look at the problem, and they’re stuck in the mire of excess, spinning their little hearts out. They’ve been spinning so long that they’ve left 6” grooves in the noxious soup.
I get out of the car and assess the damage. It’s not good. The car’s falling apart under so much use and the engine can’t handle the exertion of spinning its poor, little, worn tires. The paint’s chipped and windshield is cracked (one of these days a poor unsuspecting little bee will land on it and it will shatter, leaving him with a weight complex very similar to those suffered by humans that place themselves upon a chair much too worn to handle even the smallest amount of weight).
I take a seat next to my vehicle and wonder how I can get the tires unstuck. I’m so frustrated at trying to find different ways to do it, that all I can do is cry. So now, not only do I have mud and goop all over me, but I have snot on my sleeve and white streaks running down my cheeks, clearing a path through the dirt. My hair is matted and on top of everything else, I’m lost. No idea where I’m at. So even if I do get myself unstuck, I don’t know which direction to go.
“What do I do now?” I ask and push at the bumper. I slip and fall. Getting up, I curse the car and the mud and kick it, but I only hurt my toes, now. Aaargh!!! is all I can think. I can wait for help, but don’t know what kind to ask for. I can wait till it stops raining and the mud dries . . . then maybe I’ll be able to drive out peaceably, but then a thought enters my mind, what if the mud dries to a hearty crust around my tires and I can’t move.
Sighing, I look around.

I look north.
I look south.
I look west.
I look east.

A vast nothingness is what I see. Maybe in the far distance behind me, I can see some trees and goodness, but it’s too far. In front of me is nothingness too, but it’s a nothingness I can mold into somethingness. I look at the car and cry my last tears until I’m red in the face and so mad that I want to pound on the thing with my fists. But I can’t. I’m too weak. I let it all out and even cry into the mud, adding to its soupy consistency. When I’m exhausted, I haul myself up. I take one last look at the car and blow it a kiss goodbye as I walk toward the road to nothingness that can be made into somethingness.