Life is a #^$@ing highway, and I’m gonna ride it all ^%$&ing night long

I drive this car. CLASS-AY!

As a person who lives and works in the greater Los Angeles area, I have made my car my second home. Inside, you will find various food items, sporting equipment, entertainment options, garbage, and enough shedded (what? it’s a word now) hair to make a luxury wig (I have long hair and sometimes molt like a bird, so it happens).

I enjoy a nice leisurely drive. I have been known to just get up and go for an hour-long drive just for the fun of it. You know, it’s not about the destination; it’s about the journey and all that asshattery. Not only could I meditate on whatever melodramatic issue was bothering me at that moment (and occasionally, some issues with some depth), but I could belt out Top 40 radio songs and dance like a maniac (which, in the car, means shimmying my shoulders and doing weird, interpretive arm motions.) Driving by myself is the most exhibitionist I get.

So why does something that I generally enjoy make me so goddamn tense and irritable? In no other situation is my mood so related to context.

Scenario: It’s Friday night and I have nothing to do (it happens), so I decide to go on a nice drive around the city. See the lights and the sights. People around me are driving at varying paces, but I’m just enjoying the radio. Maybe Bon Jovi’s Livin’ on a Prayer comes on and I laugh humbly at myself as I fail to reach that high note (woooooah, we’re half way there! WOOOA—-ach LIVIN’ ON A PRAYER!).

Now suddenly I get a phone call from a friend, and–laws be damned–I answer it. I agree to go out to dinner. I now have a destination.

And suddenly everyone’s driving too GODDAMN SLOW! Traffic again? Jesus CHRIST! THE LIGHT IS GREEN, ASSHOLE! Why are they still playing this MOTHER FUCKING Eminem song on the goddamn radio?! OUT OF THE WAY, GRANDMA. You’re going to cut me off, dude? KILL YOURSELF.

Seriously, in the blink of an eye, I go from enjoying a lovely evening to suffering from rageahol poisoning. And it’s really only driving-specific, I swear. I’m normally kind of zen. There has to be a name for that condition…

 

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