9/17/2009

A CURE FOR WHAT AILS

I have found a temporary cure for my self diagnosed "vehicular turrets syndrome".  I have been in search of one since I succumed to the fact that I have absolutely no control over what comes out of my mouth, gets said in my brain to myself (even about old ladies), and specific but involuntary gestures that have different meanings in foreign countries.  When I am standing at the gates of hell, I will know for certain why I am there.  This troubles me, but what to do.  A friend recently advised me to stop fighting against myself and my natural ways and just figure out how to go with my flow.  Makes sense, putting all that energy into fighting my natural inclination to hate everyone behind a wheel, and then hate myself for hating them (sooo deeply, passionately, and instantaneously), is just causing a massive black thundercloud to form over my head and my Honda.  Don't get me wrong, I am justified in my vitriol towards bad or just plain crazy drivers.  If you are wielding around a 4000 lb piece of metal and glass that can quickly become a death device for me or someone I love (or anyone for that matter), and you don't know what you're doing, are not paying attention, or drive at speeds above the posted limit because you think it's o.k. for YOU, don't YOU call ME anti-social when I tell you where to get off!  Deep Breath.  See?

So, today.  I had to make a 28 mile drive to meet my tax accountant.  In LA 28 miles could mean it will take half an hour, or an hour and a half to get there, depending.  Potential long drive, neck muscles all tied up from a night of preparing for a tax meeting, and a tax meeting.  Recipe for a rage fueled terror ride all the way to Bellflower, CA.   In comes the miracle cure, an album by a band called Phoenix.  It's just happy enough and interesting enough to make me want to crank it loud and dance around in my seat.  If it makes a bit of a spectacle who cares, it's better than the alternative.  I am much cuter doing the bucket seat boogie.

3 comments:

Mom said...

I seriously belly laughed at this one. Thank goodness for "Phoenix." If it will keep you out of Hell, I'm all for it.

Niles said...

Other places where anything goes, linguistically: the football field; the rugby pitch; the jiu-jitsu mat; the boxing ring; the construction site (which could be the back deck of your house, for instance).

If a tree falls in a forest, and nobody hears it, does it make a noise? I don't know; but I'll tell you what one hand clapping sounds like in my car: !(@*#^(~!!!

Kara said...

Not to worry sis. I will stand with you at the gates of hell. In fact, I think I will be first in line. Not only do I have this turrets syndrome, but curiously it seems to effect me worst during sacrament meeting as I wrestle with my sweet children. It's uncanny the resemblance between me and the woman in this picture.