Rage

There was once a time where I sat in my car and twitched like a caged animal. Traffic lights caused me to growl. Slow cars ahead of me caused me to alternate between whimpers, screeches and howls. OK. It was last Tuesday.

But I've been trying to work on it.

Take today, for instance. I'm driving home, headed down Kingshighway, when I glance up in my rearview mirror, and all I can see is ECONOLINE. If this car was any closer, we could have discussed the baseball game together.

Once upon a time, I would have flipped him off and started raging. Or I would have taken a handfull of funsnaps from the glove box and tossed them out the window (I have done that to a friend when he wouldn't stop tailgating me), but not the new me. Instead I slowed down.

He finally roared around me and flipped me off. Because, apparently, I'm supposed to want him climbing up my ass. My base instincts screamed "RUN HIS PUNK ASS OFF THE ROAD". So I waved at him, pissing him off even more.

Then I realized that he was driving a contracting truck, and he was probably headed back to the office. Since there was nothing written on the side of the truck, I considered following him back to home base so I could compliment his boss on the quality of employee he's hired.

But that would be crazy and vindictive, so I let him go on his way.

It's hit me lately that life is too short to be driving around pissed off and raging at the world. Besides, it's easier to laugh at jackasses when the jackass isn't looking back at you from the mirror.