Miss Behaviour

Well, I could make an effort to write a lovely post, but I haven't got it in me. I'm having a CRAPPY WEEK.

Why? Because for what ever reason, I'm acting like a damned child. I'm (mumbles something) years old, and still my behaviour is that of a recalcitrant teenager who's taking the family car without permission and driving on the back-country roads with no regard for my own personal safety. What I don't know is what the HELL is making me do it.

As anyone knows who has read this endless missive for any length of time, mental illness is the hallmark of my existence these days. BOOYA. I'm not impressed. Where was I? Oh ya. To help instill some semblance of direction, I live a fairly structured lifestyle. We have a short-list of rules that I'm to follow in order to maintain my safety and security, and the safety of others. Now while that may seem outdated and even barbaric to the feminists out there, quite frankly, I LOVE IT. In many ways, it makes me feel very pampered and loved. Unfortunately, on the downside, in failure I feel like a SHIT. I would imagine that's where the teenager image and I part company. That and the facial lines ...

This would be one of those weeks.

Driving in southern California has always been a challenge for me ~ but maybe not in the way you think. I adore driving fast ... the faster, the better! In this, southern California is ideal. The freeway speed without rush hour traffic is about 75 mph. My average used to be somewhat faster than this (85) until my husband discovered just how fast I was driving. Then he and I sat down and discussed ALL my driving habits, deciding which ones I should keep and which ones needed to be altered just a bit.

Unfortunately for me, I had to confess that I do possess more than my share of road rage. It irritates me beyond belief when people cut me off, just to slow to a crawl right in front of me. I HAVE PLACES TO GO, MORON. My habit has been to stay right where I am in those cases: right on their bumper. This completely freaked my husband out. Then I happened to mention that when they turned off, or sped up, sometimes I followed them for a while. The poor man nearly had a coronary. I had to take his pulse at three-minute intervals for two days after that. Of course it was always necessary to give the "official thumbs up" to these irritants as well.

Some of you might not think this is all that bad. Unfortunately, when you live in southern California, tailgating, flipping the bird and speeding are all good reasons for people to SHOOT YOU DEAD. And it happens with alarming frequency. Therefore, my husband has decided I need not DO these things, as he seems to be genuinely fond of me despite my many faults. But man, this week has been one disaster after another. Despite my best efforts, every time I turn around (or turn a corner), I seem to be angry at someone, or passing someone, or too close to someone. I am filled with the Christmas spirit; unfortunately, my spirit is NOT the same as the moral majority's ...

Then I have to come home and face the music here.

The deal is, I tell the Big Kahuna. Could I lie? Of course I could. But what's the point in that? I wouldn't be helping myself, I'd certainly be damaging our marriage, and I'd be setting a precedent that I really don't want to set. Besides, once you lie, you're branded, even if no one knows: YOU know.

And I have to see the disappointment in his face when he hears that I've yet again indulged in dangerous behaviour behind the wheel of the car. Last night was the worst. I sat in a chair and looked at him and he had one hand on his head and he looked so ... tired and fed up. I know he wasn't feeling well and that probably has something to do with how he looked, but it sure didn't help any.

Why does this matter to me? As he reminds me each and every time: he loves me. And if I continue with this behaviour, I'm going to end up dead, or maimed, and may potentially end up taking someone with me. I don't want that to happen. Nuts or otherwise, I cherish my life with him, and pray that one day things will even out enough that there will be more laughter again. But the fact remains that I'm going to have to be alive in order to do it.

It's now 11:05 a.m. So far I haven't done anything stupid, and I HAVE been out in the car. Here's hoping that I'll make it through the end of this day and count ONE DAMNED DAY as a relatively responsible adult.

Meggy