I have a confession to make.

All that "zen Tonya" "stay positive" stuff that I talk about on this blog?  That all leaves me the moment that I get behind the wheel of a car.  In fact, not only does "zen Tonya" not drive, she's not usually even there.  In her place, her evil twin, Skippy, takes over.

Skippy is not happy.  She is not gracious or patient or kind.  She is screaming, bitching, seething and full of rage. 

I had court uptown yesterday morning.  I took Park Road all the way up and it was a total nightmare.

Why can't people turn right on red?  Why do they putter along in the fast lane?  Why can't they get the hell out of my way? 

And then, on the way back?

Tell me what is worse:  Being stuck in the lane behind the bus or being in stuck in the other lane behind the moron in the minivan who's afraid to pass the bus?

Either way, you're fucked, it's just a question of how aggravated you're going to be about it.

I decided that it was worse to be behind the moron. 

I try to take deep breaths.  I try to sing along to the Bee Gees.   But yesterday morning I was just in my car, trying to get back to my office, full of aggravation and longing for a bazooka.

Image:  The Renault by Alicia Bock.

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