Road Ragers Anonymous

Disclaimer: I am a theatrical motorist, passenger, backseat driver, radio changer, and blinker user.

It is and will always be an apocalypse from the second I enter any vehicle with anyone until the second I tumble out of one.

 

Maybe this is the reason Eddie suggested a dash cam to me. As comical as he finds me in route he cannot stand being in an automobile with me, why he would want to see how I am by myself is beyond me.

 

Come to think of it he isn’t the only one who has suggested this to me.

 

Well, let me enlighten you on what you’re missing on my morning commutes.

Then you can be the judge if a dash cam is right for me. Remember this is only the tip of the iceberg. Some may want the whole berg, polar bears, walruses and all, some may just want global warming to take over and let me rest in peace with the Titanic.

 

Road Rage and Hillary, Take One, Morning Commutes

 

First Stage: Shock and Denial.

 

Radio: “…we are backed up 91 N exits 24 to 32…”

Me: “Riiiiiight.”

Eddie: “You are going to be late.”

Me: “No, no, that will be gone by the time I get there.”

Eddie: Sigh*

 

Once I hit the highway about a half mile in I am forewarned by a similar message, typically every morning, I swear.

 

Electronic Signage:

Accident.

Exits 24 – 32 91 N slow moving.

Find alternate route.

 

Me: “Where I am going I don’t need roads…”

 

Yes, I talk to myself while driving. And yes, sometimes I like to pretend my car is a DeLorean. Could you imagine? I would go back to the future two steal Marty’s hover board (annnd yes, that ‘two’ was put there on purpose). After I stole the board I would go back to the future I just left and use said board to avoid the rest of what is about to unfold in your reading.

 

If you are even still with me…

 

You see for me it is refreshing to just write. When writing a novel it’s a constant annoying awareness of your surroundings: am I spelling this right, is that a word, did I forget a comma, fragment sentences, Oh Meh Gee, not those. Here I can just be a complete mess. I love it.

 

Back to the future of this blog.

 

As lightly depicted above I will react to the learning of traffic or anything really, like a cow getting in my way whilst driving, with numbed disbelief.

 

I deny that the traffic can possibly exist. I cocoon myself in a false reality that because I just adorned the roads with my presence that everything must be cleared. The divine spirit wouldn’t do this to me; why would he want me late; he wants only happiness for his children.

 

The shock that I am completely and utterly all wrong provides an emotional shelter from being overwhelmed by my halted predicament. This ease in period may last for a mere five minutes. When I do blossom from the coma of astonishment I will talk myself through the fact that I will most likely be late to where ever I am going. Oh yeh, work.

 

So maybe I do not care.

 

Stage Two: Pain and Guilt.

 

As the shock wears off I am suddenly in discomfort by my restrictions.

All the sudden I need to do everything. Why am I stuck here? I need to be everywhere else, doing entirety anything else but this.

 

This happens to me when I am stuck anywhere; elevators, walk in coolers, closets to Narnia…

 

Once limited I have an alarmingly high degree of need.

 

I need to host a fake meeting, right now.

I need to use a pay phone and now is the right time for it.

I need to take a dump, in the right that is now.

 

I need to do all the things. Now. Right now.

 

Wait.

 

Maybe I really do care if I am late?

 

Once I am done needing a heavy feeling responsibility blankets over me. I obsess over all the things that can happen if I am late. Will I get fired? Will I get written up? Maybe no one will care? Maybe they will care? Will they notice if I just say fuck it and don’t show for the day? Will I care if they don’t notice?

 

STOP!

 

A Doctor once told me I shouldn’t let my thoughts get carried away like this.

What I just did there is called the “Stop Technique” and it works for me most of the time because when I scream STOP in my head my ADHD kicks in I immediately forget what I was rambling about in my dome piece.

 

Forgetting my worries I text my co-worker that I am in unbearable traffic and will most likely be late.

 

Of course this doesn’t happen in the normal conventional manner, “Hey, I am going to be late.” It goes more like this:

 

Me: “Freaking Ryan Gorgeous Gosling!”

Tif: “What other than the Notebook is Ryan Gosling in? I never really liked him before but now I do. LOL!”

Me: “LmFao. He is amazing. I’ll tell you whenever I get to god damned fucking work. I loathe traffic. Pisses me the fuck off. I should seek help.” < In case you missed it that was the “Hey, I am going to be late.”

Tif: “Lmao! I don’t think there’s help for you. You’re just going to have to live with being crazy.”

 

Sigh, possibly however excruciating it is, maybe it is important that I experience the pain of tapping the breaks every four seconds fully. I needn’t avoid or escape from it with alcohol or drugs.

Wait, what? Wrong meeting.

 

I need to enter this chaotic, guilt ridden and scary place to encourage a revised morning routine for the future.

 

Stage Three: Anger and Bargaining.

 

Frustration gives way to anger.

 

I lash out and lay unwarranted blame for the fact that I am stuck in traffic on every single vehicle.

 

I try to control this, as to not cause permanent damage to my own car. But this is a time for the release of bottled up emotion. I straddle the breakdown lane blocking assholes from trying to cut everyone off. Who do they think they are? If I have to sit here so do you. On my list of driving peeves this comes in at number two. Breakdown lane drivers. I just can’t.

 

I call my husband. He hits ignore.

 

Hashtag#what the fuck.

 

I call him again. He can’t talk. I inform him he is totally not helpful in my revelry. Hang up. Pretty sure he doesn’t care. Pretty sure he doesn’t understand what revelry I can possibly be in while driving. He later informs me that I am utterly ridiculous. 

 

I yell and scream. I ask “Why does this always happen to me?” … LOL… no really I do. My donkey angel tells me it’s because I dawdle in the morning and I curse at my donkey. He goes away and so I sell bribes to my steering wheel “…if you get me to work on time I will never forget to give you an oil change again. Wouldn’t you like that?”

 

For good measure I add, “And if you’re really fast you’ll get those new tires you’ve needed since last winter!”

 

Happy Face.

 

Stage Four: “Depression.”

 

A long period of sad reflection will overtake me when I run out of payoffs and energy from my antics.

 

I will guzzle coffee to add more fuel to my dwindling fire. I will also spill coffee all over me but it won’t matter anymore. There’s no hope for me. I’m trapped in a highway parking lot with no access to napkins.

 

In this sad, pathetic, and wet moment I finally realize the true magnitude of my poor decision making in the dawn. Poor choices like that one time I hit snooze eighteen times versus just getting my fat ass up to go for a run to burn off the stale donut I was sure to eat upon getting to the office late. 

 

And then that thought depresses me more. I shouldn’t find road rage comfort in sugary delights.

 

Stage Five: The Upward Turn.

 

A good song comes on the radio, a calmer and more organized version of my crazy self emerges.

My physical symptoms lessen, and my "depression" begins to lift ever so slightly.

 

I will hum. I will grace my fellow drivers with a happier time.

 

I will blast the music. Dare myself… done, windows down.

 

I will sing to my windshield, head bang to my steering wheel, and play air guitar while causing several other accidents because now more people are focused on my stellar performance versus the road.

 

Stage Six: Reconstruction and Working Through.

 

As I become more happy and functional, my mind starts working again; I find myself seeking realistic solutions to problems like traffic in the morning commute.

 

I will get up early tomorrow god damn it. And I will like it. And this will never happen again.

 

And then I will run for President.  Because I am an awesome early bird!

 

Who needs Clinton when you have me?!?

 

Stage Seven: Acceptance and Hope.

 

I now accept the reality of my situation as traffic clears nearly an hour later.

 

Acceptance does not necessarily mean instant delight with ones self. More like relief.

 

And I actually make it to work only minutes late. Which by the way I am on salary. I actually am never late, I just make up that I am to stress myself out to feel important since they aren’t doing a good enough job of that, lack of engagement and all.

 

Given the pain and turmoil I have experienced, I can never return to the carefree, untroubled driver that existed before this tragedy.

 

But I will find a way to speed forward pretending to be Tanner Foust drifting in between cars for a hope that tomorrow will be a smoother ride.

 

Vrroomm Vrroomm. Beep.