How my iPod prevents road rage

I drove by the freeway merge, smug in the knowledge that my route was best.   My rush hour voodoo is better than your rush hour voodoo.

Armed with my coffee and my music, it's a caffeine karoake bar in my car.  The singing is just as bad sober, I'm afraid, but at least I know the words, and in my own mind, I can be anyone...

Because as I sing along with Gavin, I don't wanna be anything other than what I've been trying to be lately, and man, this is the best coffee ever.

What a beautiful morning, the sun is up, it's clear, and Billy confirms, "It's a nice day for a white wedding..." and a shame I left my leather and hair gel at home.

"These are the days,"  I chime in with Natalie, as I'm wondering, why is the traffic slowing so much here?  Should I take my chances on the surface streets?  Wow, it's packed out here, and it shouldn't be.   With my commute, it's either go in during the predawn hours, and avoid the rush; or wait until most of the traffic has died down, and work later.  I chose to go in later so I could see everyone off to school; I figured that everything would be cool and I'd zip right in.

Not today.  Something is up.  I decide not to take the surface streets, in hopes that it's not as bad as it looks.  When it takes me 30 minutes to go about 2 miles, I realize I will be needing a miracle drug, and heh, maybe U2 can make a house (car?) call.

Then again,  I try to suppress my impatience, afterall, it's been a while since I've gone in this late on a Monday, agreeing with Sting about how it's probably me. 

Oh, no that woman didn't cut me off, did that SUV just shrink six inches somehow to fit in that spot?  Time goes by, so slowly but this chair dance is making it worth my while, thank you, Madonna.  It's now a dance party in my drivers' seat, and I'm looking at my rear view mirror hoping that singing Crash along with Gwen isn't tempting fate.

Get out of my head, that man, he's always in my head...I know I've been hanging out with the hubby too much when I start looking at expiration dates on license plates to pass the time.  Oooh, wow....I feel as wide-eyed as a 3 yr old boy as a semi flatbed rolls by, carrying big yellow tractors, all shiny and new.

The 3 yr old wonder disappears, because I'm no angel, and Dido, I need to reapply my lippy in the rear view mirror...I'm no angel...fluff, fluff...thank goodness my windows are tinted.  I'm certain to an outsider, I look ridiculous, or like I forgot to take some medication.

I want to run, I want to hide  yeah, you and me both, Bono, "I want to tear down these walls that hold me inside..."  Yes!  Finally, things are moving!

I don't mind driving.  Put me in the car, play me some tunes, roll down the windows once in a while...and it's an instant mood lifter, especially if this isn't interrupted by a foot kicking the back of my seat or me having to referee the fight waaaay back there while changing lanes (I have been known to pull over to deal with that.)

At last, my off ramp.  <grinning>  I made it!  Only thirty minutes late!  (eyeroll)

As I wait for the light, I glance up into my rear view mirror.  It's just a habit of mine.

He gets up and approaches a car behind me, one lane over; really thin, but not drug-thin, at one time, probably not a bad-looking man. I wince as I see him turn around, big holes in the seat of his baggy jeans.  He exchanges pleasantries with the driver who beckoned him; I wonder what they are talking about as I feel my mood deflating to seriousness. 

No, I don't think he needs an empty coffee cup.  Yet I wrestle with myconscience, do I or don't I?  Wait, I can't; I shouldn't; I should; no, I can't ; I'm the Mommy; as the light turns green, the decision is made for me.

I try not to reflect too much on this.  I realize I have to keep safety in mind first, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.  The echoes of "bye, Mom, see you later" still fresh in my mind from the morning drop-off help me accept it.

If I could chaaa-a-annge the world...

My thoughts exactly, Eric.