I can’t drive. I mean, I have a license. I am legally able to drive. On a nice country road or empty highway, I can drive for hours.
Oh, traffic, thine nemesis of my soul. The thing that gives me stress hives and makes me cry. That evil being that makes me want a kitten as a stress pet.
Thou art evil.
From the man who tries to run his bike into my car to the stop light that doesn’t allow half the line of waiting cars to pass. I hate you.
Fighting my way across Southwest Florida is my personal version of hell. Never knowing where in that hell I am. Never knowing if the person in front of my bumper is trying to merge or has died of old age while behind the wheel. It’s making me a nervous wreck.
And the Garmin doesn’t help. It’s telling me to go down a road I don’t know in an overly cheerful voice. And then she (the vile and misleading siren that is Garmin) wants you to merge, but there’s no way in hell the people around you are going to consider letting you get over. So you miss the turn and she gives you the ding of shame.
And the clock. That evil clock that tells you when you should be getting to your destination. But as traffic gets worse, the time gets further and further away. And for a panicky moment, you look at the arrival time and think that’s the time it already is and you’re going to be massively late.
And then if that hasn’t already destroyed your soul for all time, you still have to drive the rest of the way there! And my soul dies!!!!
My nemesis wins again. It always does.
I may never drive again.
Until I have to.
‘Cause like, adulting.