This week, while my lovely parents are in Hawaii, I've been staying at their house with my sister and dog. And Phoebe, too. Don't worry, I didn't leave her at my apartment with all the cockroaches and breaking and entering.
It's been great so far. Their kitchen is full of food, unlike mine. If you open my fridge, you'll find some day old milk, bread, turkey, and condiments. Oh, and coffee creamer. You know, the necessities.
They also have one of those magical boxes called a "DVR." I'll admit, I've gone a little crazy with it. I've been living without cable for about six months now so all week I've been binging on I Love the 80's (version, like 7.0), Best Week Ever, and BEST OF ALL, The Daily Show. Oh, Jon Stewart, my love. I've missed you. I was seriously considering getting cable just for The Daily Show, but I can't justify paying at least $20 a month for one thirty-minute show. Sorry, Jon.
The only downside to being back at my parents (aside from not having any of my stuff and having to keep my dog away from Phoebe/her food/her litter box, like, good god, DOG, it's CAT POOP, why do you want to eat it?), is it makes my daily commute about 20 minutes longer. AND it means I have to take the dreaded highway during rush hour, at least in the morning, because by the time I leave work everyone else is already home, eating dinner and ignoring their kids, the bastards.
But, you people who do this EVERY MORNING . . . I don't know how you do it. I bow down to you. Because driving on the highway during rush hour fills me with such maniacal rage that I can't focus my eyes and I kind of want to throw up. This morning I think I may have scarred a high school student for life, but it's his own fault for CUTTING ME OFF and then SLAMMING ON HIS BREAKS in the freaking LEFT LANE. DO YOU SEE THE CAPS LOCK? I mean, at that point my middle finger has a mind of its own. There's no controlling that.
Every time I get filled with rage, this "road rage" if you will, I think of this part in Tuesdays with Morrie (not the crying parts) where Morrie talks about how he doesn't understand why people get so mad in traffic, because it's not like it will solve anything and it will probably just turn you into a drooling, jabbering monkey. And he's right. Me pounding on my horn and flashing my middle finger at every jackass on the road isn't going to make them stop driving like jackasses and it sure as hell doesn't make me feel any better. So, I take a deep breath and try to calm down. I turn up the radio. And then some idiot stops in the middle of the intersection, blocking all directions of traffic, and I think, "Easy for you to say, old man, you'll be dead soon."