January 7th, 08:16 | Yes, I realize I talk about driving the way most girls talk about sex
It occurs to me as I sit here, refusing to let myself go back to sleep, but too wound-up to do yoga, that most people would probably think I was crazy to get up so early to drive my dad to work just so I'd have the car later today. That I should've just slept in and done my psych. But. If I think about my drive home, all typical me, rocking out to a home-made cd (I imagine I'm quite the sight, at red lights), singing as loud as I want (and thankfully no one else can hear) it puts my whole day into a nice frame, and makes me very happy. It's a little pathetic, really, that driving for 20 minutes in the morning makes me so elated. Nonetheless, it does.
Which is merely one reason why I have an extreme lack of interest concerning WorkBoy. He's very sweet and old-fashioned in the sense that he finds it disrespectful to ask a girl ("me") out and then expect her to drive there to meet him, or even drive the both of us. Which would be touching and cute, or something, if it weren't for the fact that I'm a speed demon. I don't own my own car, but I drive my dad's sufficiently often that I think of it as "mine". I'm completely used to it, and the way it feels, and there are few things that feel good in quite the same way whooshing down a road, especially late at night or early in the morning, with no one else on the road feels. That night with my team, driving home from Dave & Buster's at 2am, hitting almost every green light on 7 from Concord all the way to Markham has to be up there on my list of favourites. The road is liberating, and frankly, I'll take my opportunity to drive whenever I can.
So, when a guy gets all pissy at me because it doesn't make sense to him that we take separate cars ("Fine. I'm driving.") and then gets all pouty that he's not driving, I have issues. Especially since he barely knows me and is getting all imposing on (what I consider to be) one of the few activities that keep me sane. I mean, yes, he's a car freak with one of these cute, plastic Japanese cars that he's modded up with an engine bigger than Megatron, but you know what? It's winter, my friend. You drive a short-ass go-kart, 3 inches off the ground. I drive an Explorer. And as cute as watching you handbrake to make it around corners was, it's not happening again. Drive in the summer, when your car can handle it. For all the shit I get about the gas-guzzlingness, about the bad cornering (it isn't even that bad), about every aspect of "OMG! the fucking tank!" I drive, my car makes me happy, and you know what? On days it snows, when everyone else is driving at 25 (that's kph, not mph), I'm still speeding. Which may lead you to question my sanity (and rightly so), but I can feel my car not slipping and frankly, I know it can take it.
The moral of the story (yes, there is one) is that: car-freak or not, if you can't deal with the fact that I love driving, and that some days, if I don't get out and hit some open road, I will go crazy, don't talk to me about being understanding. My parents are extremely nice about giving me personal freedom. Nonetheless, there's a lot of things I just can't do while I'm living in their house. Driving is one of the easiest, most concrete ways for me to literally get away. If my puppy didn't drink gas faster than I breathe, I'd drive to Aurora and back every time I was having a bad day. Asking me to be a passenger on one of those days when I just need to drive leads to situations that no one wants to witness.
So if your manhood is really that intimately linked up to your driving, either accept that my "manhood" is just as important to me as yours is, or settle for the fact that you can't handle me, and stop bothering me while I'm trying to work for fuck's sake.
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