Fears of a Clown

Ingrid had postponed leaving for Vegas as long as she could. She had been dreading the trip. The hours standing on the floor at the electronics sales convention, the cheesy passes from drunken businessmen, the bright lights, the dim people, the negotiations, the whole thing disgusted her now. She was the chief sales executive for a small firm that produced high tech niche products, and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why anyone needed any of the things she was being handsomely paid to promote. Ingrid was in crisis. It was a crisis of faith, of purpose, of motivation, of understanding. She just no longer understood the whole ball of wax, as her boss would have put it. She had seen her doctor who suggested she was depressed, but for her, that just seemed too simple an answer. She had promised herself to remain totally open minded in her quest for a solution, so she filled the prescription and was taking the pills, but that wasn’t answering the questions. Ingrid had always been bright and inquisitive, and had now, in her early thirties, finally realized that there were no answers to life’s most important questions, or so it seemed. How lucky are those who have faith, she thought as she drove toward Vegas with the sun setting behind her, making the desert ahead glow with a magnificent golden-orange hue. She took refuge in the magic before allowing herself to slip out of the moment. Ingrid knew she was happiest when confined to the moment, but was unable to stay put for more than a few minutes at a time. Her brain was too busy and there were too many questions to ask herself. Sadly of late, the questions and the need for answers dominated. She often questioned her need to question and at those times felt like a dog chasing its tail. In desperation she had bought a book on CD for the trip. It seemed all new age and trendy, but again, she had promised herself to keep an open mind. One of the reasons she chose the drive from San Francisco rather than a short flight, was to give herself some uninterrupted me time with something that might provide her some comfort. Ingrid knew that any time she saved by flying would just be eaten up by work. She at least knew that much about herself, so time behind the wheel would be time well spent. The disc went in and Ingrid turned up the volume, then took a sip of her orange juice that had been resting in the cup holder. It was going to be a long night and she hoped, a rewarding one. Almost immediately a voice yelled out to her and she jumped as she reduced the volume and moved the juice up and away from her so as to not spill it on her silk blouse or the upholstery of her new Jaguar. The car was a gift to herself, but lovely as it was, it failed to make her happy.