One step forward, two steps back.
Two gigantic, leaping steps. Flying, cartwheeling steps. Heels-over-the-cliff steps.
I should have known. When the miraculous occurs and something that is actually helpful happens, it won't last or will backfire.
Just so the event that led MW to agree to let me drive from now on. That's over and I'm once again relegated to riding white-knuckled in the passenger seat, but it's my own fault. It makes me ill when I think about it; just how fucking pointless and cruel and miserable and hopeless and sad and dangerous and pathetic and and and.
Here's what happened:
I'm driving now! And doing a great job of it, if I may say so. There's a reason for my perfect driving record - I'm obsessively careful and defensive on the road. Always wear my seat-belt and stop at every sign even if there are no other cars on the road. Yeah, I'm that person. But heck, behind the wheel of a car is the only place where I have certain control over our safety. We may be fucked, but we're not dying in a car. Not when I'm driving.
You see what's coming, right? I'm cruising the speed-limit on a 55mph freeway when lady in a BMW, who had been stopped off the side of the road, decides she's waited long enough and pulls right into my lane and I have to stand on the brakes to avoid having a BAD collision. Tires screaming, smoke billowing, everything loose in the car flying forward, smacking against the dash and the windshield.
And I transform into a creature made of pure rage.
Five years of being Huntington's Disease's simpering bitch. Five years of no peace, no rest, constant humiliation and horror. Five years of sleep-deprivation and sickness. Five years of crushing depression.
And this CUNT tries to wreck us in her fucking BMW?
Oh. Oh no. No, I couldn't....
And when I had finished verbally unloading all my hatred and frustration on the silly twat who had long since puttered away (badly cutting of other motorists, I noticed, as she continued blissfully towards the far end of a five lane highway to turn into a fast-food joint) MW was sobbing, begging me to calm down.
For you see, I had well and truly lost my shit.
Welp. That's the end of that. I am no longer allowed to drive. We have to do the shuffle where I'll pull out of our driveway to avoid hitting cars, then stop at a strip-mall to let her take the wheel. She'll drive until we get close to our destination where she'll pull into an easy lot to let me do the parking if it's a garage.
Stupid and dangerous. And I'm to blame. If only I'd been able to control myself.
***
More? MW saw an internet article about an ex-school teacher who now earns $100,000+ delivering groceries.
Again, you see what's coming.
But I don't want her driving around that much, so I have to think fast:
"You can't do that," I say. "They'll make you deliver everywhere. Even rape houses."
"?"
"You know, some bad neighborhood or trailer park or something."
"Those people don't have their groceries delivered! They can't afford it."
"Sure they can. They get subsidized for it. And the grocery stores don't charge, so it's free, except if they want to tip. Which they don't have to. That $100,000 a year ex-teacher probably works a really expensive, high end neighborhood. Not like it is around here."
So far that argument has won the day. Last thing MW wants is to have any part of a rape-house.
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