I’m not a particularly nice person. In fact, I’m often rude and abrasive, judgmental, opinionated. And that’s when I’m at the grocery store. When I get into my car...that’s when my inner badass takes control.
The other night I am driving home down a major thoroughfare not too far from my house. The car in front of me is driving too slow for words (except the bad words).
It’s a sporty vehicle with dark window tint...through the darkened glass I can make out a bobbing ponytail.
I’m convinced it’s a young woman texting as she drives.
I pull to the left of the lane so she can see me in her side mirror. Nothing changes. She signals right...the same turn I need to make to go to my house. As I round the corner the silver car veers to the side of road, the window opens, and the driver gives me the finger.
It’s not a young stranger. It’s a woman I know (and really like). Her children go to my daughter’s school. I stop my car and we both have a good laugh and quick chat. Apologies are made and bad behaviors are forgiven.
But really, I totally deserved that finger, I was following too close. I was, in the words of my "zenner" friends, sending out messages of anger to the universe. Damn straight. However, it turns out my friend wasn’t texting at all, she was simply engrossed in a conversation with her passenger (another friend of mine).
I’ve always believed that the veneer of civilization is thin. I know that every conscious act sees me either sanding down that thin protective shell, or applying coat or varnish.
I’m generally pretty abrasive. Whether I mean to or not, I do a lot of sanding. Writing gives me a chance to be varnish.
Today I drove from one end of the city to the other, down Deerfoot Trail...twice - during road repair season. That’s right - twice in the same day.
I better put down some serious pages soon. I’ve got a lot of varnishing to do.
Write like there's nobody watching. Chances are...
Kari
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