Road Rage, Among Other Things

I’ll cover the “other things” initially, because I’m happy to say that I managed to correctly spell “modicum” yesterday in my story. Today, I was thinking about the word, and I realized that I wrote it at some point yesterday, and all of the sudden I couldn’t remember if it had a “d” or a “t” in it. I asked, and my friends all told me it was a “d”.

I was worried that I’d misspelled it.

It’s been eating at me all day.

That said, I’m quite proud of myself now! Another other thing is that I have a pair of really painful canker sores at the bottom of my gum, and my boyfriend told me that I should rinse my mouth out with mouthwash, because the alcohol in it would help my little gums. So, I did. I don’t usually use mouth wash, except if I’m going into a dentist appointment, because I know that it tastes like–what else?–alcohol. However, I was determined to fix my stupid mouth so I could go back to making funny faces without hurting myself. I poured a little mouthwash out and dumped it into my mouth. It wasn’t so bad at first, but then I actually tasted it.

I kind of had to force myself to keep the stupid alcohol in my mouth, chanting in my head, “You’re going to get better! You’re going to get better!” After a while, though, it was a bit too much, so I spat it out and sat in front of the sink, gagging a little bit because the taste was kind of lingering on the tip of my tongue.

It wasn’t a fun experience, let me tell you. I don’t even care if all my teeth fall out, I can’t stand mouthwash!

Okay, it’s been almost 40 minutes since I started writing this post, and that’s because I got distracted by a blog I found on the Freshly Pressed page. I need to stop getting distracted, but it really is oh so much fun. Like, this one right here? It’s titled, “Cancer. LOL.”

Tell me how I’m supposed to not click that. Tell me. I dare you.

Although I have trouble seeing cancer as the type of thing one might laugh out loud about–especially on account of my boyfriend’s mom having recently died of cancer, the first person I ever met who died–I think it’s morbidly interesting to see someone’s more chill perspective on the subject. Come on. “Yup. I got cancer, yo.” Tell me that’s not wonderfully funny of him to say.

Anyways, my point is that I need to move along so I can actually get some sleep tonight. It’s a crazy goal, I know. My dad thinks it’s weird and unhealthy and bad that I take so many naps during the day, like after school or on the weekends, and he asked me, “Do you have trouble falling asleep at night because you try to sleep so much during the day?” He’s always trying to make it out to be a bad thing that I want to sleep a lot. It’s not, I’m just tired! My circadian rhythms, evidently, have yet to mature alongside those of my classmates. But I don’t really mind, because I like sleeping.

Ah, off-topic again. Okay, okay, it’s story time.

I was staring intently down at a book but I felt the car suddenly slow down and I looked around, confused.

“Look at that,” my mom said, starting to sound put-out. “Those two trucks up ahead are going the exact same speed right next to each other, so now nobody can get ahead of them.”

My mind started to play with her words, as my mind tended to do, and I wondered, if everyone is supposed to be going the same speed, wouldn’t that always be a problem? Or would we never be right next to each other? Actually, there would be no need to get ahead of anybody, because we’d all be going the same speed, so no car would be going faster than another and need to get around other ones.

My mom interrupted my thoughts by swerving rather dangerously around the few cars between ours and the two trucks ahead, quickly closing the distance. I saw that the car in our lane was a huge semi, a furniture mover. The other truck was just an oversize pick-up, but was just as impossible to maneuver around as the semi. “Asshole!” my mom said through gritted teeth.

She honked, and I wondered when the sustained note would ever end. It was at least half a minute before she released the horn. I was shocked, and my ears were ringing a little, and I felt my heart start thumping away in overtime.

I turned toward the window and looked at one wispy cloud that flitted over the lake beneath the bridge. God, I began hesitantly. Um, my mom’s a reckless driver, and I’m a little worried. My sister and I have yet to finish our adolescent lives. I haven’t even lived one entire year of high school, okay? Could you maybe, you know, keep us all, um, here on Earth? Because I really would like to see the rest of my life.

That’s pretty much how all of my little chats with God went, but they were few and far between, and I always figured that the Big Guy would have a nice sense of humor and see my side of things.

Meanwhile, my mom swore over the Indie-Rock that was playing through the cars speakers. Mom turned the radio off, to the surprise and annoyance of my sister, and she grabbed a receipt off the dashboard.

“Do you have a pencil?” my mom demanded of me.

“Uh, yeah…” I looked through my backpack and found one. She thrust the scrap paper behind her, into my hands, and dictated the license plate and phone number of the moving truck.

“Wait, wait,” I said, putting the receipt on my binder and trying to write. I couldn’t make the numbers out clearly, though, because between the bumpy highway and my mother’s erratic driving, I had very little control over my hands motions. “So… That’s… X, six, four?”

“Yes,” my mom replied curtly as she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “The number. One, eight hundred…”

I copied as well as I could, though most of my zeros turned out like sixes. She took the paper back and drove us away from the trucks, onto the off-ramp.

My heart was still blasting. Hey, God, thanks. Keep up the good work, bro.


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