Well, I'll say this for a prolonged period of heightened anxiety (the really ugly side of depression): It makes road rage a lot more fun.
I come from a family of highway hotheads -- Dad's a cop and Mom's Scots-Irish, so my sister and I didn't have a prayer. So while we take care not to drive recklessly, we certainly can all be classified as aggressive. (I maintain that the aggressive drivers aren't the ones that cause the accidents; the stupid drivers do. I have no statistics to back this up, but I staunchly stick to my position.)
On an ordinary day I do a pretty good dance. I know all the tricks on my route to work -- the places where two lanes turn to one after a stoplight, giving me extra manuevering room to get around slow drivers; the speed traps; the timing of the traffic lights. All of these are important strategic tools, like chess pieces, which I keep in the wings for the moments when they can augment my skillful lane changing, positive/negative acceleration, intimate knowledge of my car's capabilities and instinct for spacial relationships and relative speeds.
I like to drive fast. I like to outmaneuver and outstrategize the other drivers on the road -- particularly because most of the drivers on the road are really, really bad. It's not road rage so much as road competition. I have places to go, and I want to get there first. When another driver's antics summon a flare-up of temper, I seldom yell; more often I narrow my eyes, mutter something obscene and bide my time, waiting for the moment to blaze around them, demonstrate my superiority and clear the road ahead of me. I'm not confrontational by nature, so these moments of executing driving maneuvers with skill and temper give me huge rushes of adrenaline, which I also enjoy.
(It's a good thing I'm bound by law and morality, though. I said to Meg the other week, as I finally was able to pass someone who'd been boxing me in at ridiculously slow speeds for miles, "Do you ever have the really strong urge to clip someone's rear axle as you pass them, just because they're stupid?" At which point she laughed and said, "Sarah, if it were legal, you'd have grenade launchers mounted on your car and a PA system to insult them before you blew them up." "Well...I'd probably settle for a machine gun," I said.)
The trouble with the adrenaline is that when I'm under a long stretch of anxiety, as I have been these last two and a half weeks, it's pretty much coursing through me at all times. With my fight-or-flight response thrumming in high gear all day, the extra surges that come from successful acts of daring on the highway burn through my blood vessels like acid.
But at least it's productive. The rest of the day I spend fidgeting at my desk, keyed up and unable to concentrate while my eyes dart all over the place instinctively looking for danger, when the danger is all in my head and I can't do anything about it. At least while I'm driving I'm entirely focused on what I'm doing, and what I'm doing carries tangible significance, even if it's only cutting five minutes out of my drive time or getting around that cigar-chewing asshole who wouldn't let me pass him for three miles.
Every night finds me exhausted from all the chemicals going haywire in my system (the temporary medications as well as the biochemical horrors); but I can't relax enough to sleep; my nights are more like a succession of really worthless two- or three-hour naps, since my dreams are so bizarre and disturbing it's almost better to stay awake. This anxiety crap is hell on the restfulness of life, and coffee is not my friend, though I still drink it by the pot (faithful to the last). And for some reason I'm thirsty like the Sahara Desert all the time.
But at least driving is more fun.
4 comments:
Next time I go to Manhattan, would you like to drive? You'd be sharing the road with about 8 million kindred spirits.
You'd be right at home in Boston too. Here are some of the immutable rules of the road I've found here: 1) Left-turning cars ALWAYS have the right of way. Even if you're in the far right lane. 2) The red light doesn't *really* mean stop until it's been on for *at least* 3 seconds. 3) Pedestrians are not obligated to look either way before jaywalking. In fact, to do so would be blatantly uncool. Much like following walk/don't walk signs at a busy intersection. 4) The only place to do a 3 point turn is also in the middle of a busy intersection. 5) Traffic signals are totally optional. 6) No parking? No problem. Just double park for as long as you need (4-ways on for cover) and you'll be good to go. 7) It's always acceptable to honk, finger, or run over a fellow driver for following the rules. It is never ok, however, to do so to a driver who is not.
That's what I've picked up so far, anyway. Sorry to say that I'm one of those slow-poke drivers that gets honked at on average 3 times on my way to work -- mostly at those times when I don't legally have the right-of-way, but the driver behind thinks I should, or take it by force if necessary. At this rate, I think I'll have a heart attack by the time I'm 50. Gracious...
Ha...well, if it's any comfort, anonymous, I rarely use my horn except for defensive driving, and when the driver ahead of me forgets to check if the light turned green (and then it's a gentle tap, not a blare). I'm the person more likely to pass you on the right if you're going under the speed limit (PET peeve) and I can get around you safely.
I have the most fun irritating the other super-rude drivers.
And some days I'm actually pretty zen. This morning, for example, was beautiful and I was in no hurry, so I just cruised along.
Your observed rules of the road, though, are hilarious.
We drive nearly the same freakin' way in terms of road rage. I've finally come to a point where I can mutter under my breath and set my jaw instead of flailing wildly with "WTF! Did you SEE that!" hands. And I fight the urge to play bumper-cars with idiots in front of me way too many times. I think it's a default setting in my head -- that yes, THIS is how we deal with slowpokes and people who don't use turn signals.
I keep aiming for calm, though. I pass on the right if someone's tooling along at just barely the speed limit in the left lane, and I back off on one-lane streets so I'm not tail-gating. And if someone's tail-gating me, I do one of two things, depending on my mood. If I'm sufficiently irked and aggressive, I'll brake-check. Yeah, it's a dick move, but it works so well sometimes. If I'm not irked or if I've been watching the tail-gater and know they're erratic and weird, I'll pull off as soon as I can safely do so and let 'em pass. It isn't worth it.
Last time I drove home I had to pass a huge local county fair and a very obviously drunk moron in a Jeep cut me off so closely I did beep at him. He awkwardly flipped me off and spent the next twenty minutes trying to "get back at" me. It was funny -- a little scary, at first, but once I accepted that I did enjoy the rush, it was a blast. At one point he tailgated so close that I dropped to 35 (and he stuck with me), then shot off at close to 70 (lost him -- there was an opening between semi-trucks). His exit came up before mine, which was a relief, because I fully expected him to follow me into the next rest stop and try to start something (and I would have obliged, in my own way).
I really need to learn how to be brief.
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