I have bad road rage. I mean that in the most literal way possible. That is, I have road rage. When driving, especially by myself, I get mad at only the road. I don’t get angry with other drivers. I don’t care that they don’t use turn signals, cut me off, don’t let me into their lane, flip me off, or honk at me just because I’m text messaging while driving seventy miles-per-hour from the passenger’s seat on the shoulder of the freeway.
No, I get mad at intangible, ridiculous things that should in no way incite anger for any reason. If, for example, I’m stuck in rush hour traffic, I start to get angry that the freeway doesn’t have a secret invisible lane that escalates towards the sky and takes only me directly to my house. I start to get mad that the city planners didn’t design a freeway that had just one extra lane for traffic. If there was merely one more lane, then traffic would flow smoothly all of the time. I punch off my radio and slam my steering wheel because of all of the trash and debris on the road that may be damaging my wheels. This is really messed up, and I am completely aware.
I now need somebody in my life for yet another reason. When somebody else is with me in the car, my anger is decreased significantly. All of my energy is refocused on not making the other person hate me. I’m really good at making people not think I have rage issues while driving. Most of the time, the other person in my car doesn’t even see me as a homicidal, reactionary maniac ready to explode at inanimate objects like freeways and imaginary sky lanes. But really, this is about how much more comfortable I feel in a confined space with a pretty person sitting next to me. I think a good date would be just a three-hour drive somewhere in the evening. Cars are the perfect place for introspective conversation not marred by superficialities because if you look at the other person for too long, you will crash and die.