My route is the path I take from home in the morning to home at night. Its a circular circuit two miles in length unless it stretches like a rubber band to accommodate extra stops along the way. Most days it is four right turns and two straightaways from bed to bed.
The route is the physical act of traveling to and from work, but its also the mental act of creating something during the day that makes the route. it might be a genetic holdover from the hunting and gathering era of human development, but as sure as there is a time for lunch, I am trying to catch the light of the day and put it on paper. Sometimes it is a profound thought, sometimes its stupid, but I am always in the hunt.
Unless I am distracted, maybe by something petty like the word route. It is pronounced as both “root” and “rowt” depending on the regional dialect you find yourself dialoguing in, and being from Philadelphia we twist language like a pretzel. Route is a big word in Philadelphia. It is always pronounced “rowt” as a verb, and usually pronounced “root” as a noun . “I’m going on route up the Blue Route” covers both pronunciations. Regardless of where it takes you, when you route you are doing the work that will allow you to call the day a productive one. Going on route is a sacred duty in our dirty city. Now I should really get on my route, for real.