Driving, How I Loathe You…

Lately, I’ve come to a realization.  And that realization is that I absolutely HATE driving.  I didn’t consciously notice it before, despite all the F’bombs and angry rants that seem to go down while I’m driving.  But hey, the first step to recovery is acknowledging that you have a problem, right?  So maybe I can work on not turning into a raging monster when I get behind the wheel from now on.


In the meantime, let me give you a clear picture of why I hate driving…

I’ll start with my dear, first car that I got after high school.  His name was Mr. Car.  Very original, I know.  It was a simple name for a car I respected enough to give a formal title (he was an old timer), but wasn’t crazy enough about to give a real name.  He was always in and out of the shop, so we weren’t exactly on good terms.

And he’s one of the reasons why I started to hate driving.  On multiple occasions, he would try to take my life along with his own.  Two of those times were when the brakes stopped working while I was driving.

Long story short, he ended up getting stolen from in front of my house, even though there was a “NO BRAKES” sign taped to the steering wheel, courtesy of the auto repair shop that wanted to overcharge me for new brakes.

I’m sure by now, he’s probably been smashed into a cube, after they stripped him of all his parts and put him through one of those compressor things.  But that’s what the old coot gets for trying to kill me!


After all my drama with that car, I started to get a bit paranoid whenever I drove.  Right now, I drive my dad’s mini-van and just the slightest noise or difference in my driving experience will have me calling my dad.  I get scared that his car (who I named CrackerJack) is after my life as well.  I’ll even have someone else drive it occasionally to confirm that it’s okay.

So driving can sometimes have me feeling tense, which makes the second reason why I hate driving even worse.

The second reason is the simple fact that I have to share the road with people.  As a result, my road rage light is always on.

Everyone and everything will bother me while I’m driving.  If you’re driving too slowly, I’m mad.  If you’re driving super fast, I’m mad and you’re an asshole.  If the light turns green and you’re not immediately going at least 40mph, I’m mad.  If there’s a turning lane, but you decide to slow down in my lane before finally getting over, making me miss the light in the process…I’m mad.

Yeah, you get the picture.  Driving just makes me mad.

An hour is about as much as I can drive in one sitting without feeling physically and mentally exhausted.  My whole body, especially my back, will ache because I’m just too tense.  And I’ll have a headache from yelling at strangers who can’t even hear me.  Which is actually pretty pathetic really.

No one really seems to understand it though.

My family and friends are all like, “Why don’t you ever visit meeeee?”

And I don’t want to say it’s because they’re not always worth the stress I feel trying to get there.  Driving isn’t supposed to be such a big deal.  But it kinda is for me.

I usually get internally defensive when people want me to visit and think, “Well, it’s a two-way street!  Why don’t YOU drive to ME?”

Guess I won’t be going on any roadtrips anytime soon…

*Images from Google


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