I want to do nothing.

I don’t want to be here or there or awake or asleep or moving or still. I am in a state of contradictions. I can’t think and yet my mind is racing. I feel frozen but I’m filled with energy. I am fluctuating between irate and numb, but happy doesn’t seem to be on the radar.

Coping mechanism: mental writing. As I drove in to work, I screamed internally at the drivers on the freeway. It took a great deal of self-restraint not to lay on the horn as I drove behind a car going 55-mph in a 65-mph zone. In Phoenix, you’re allowed to go up to 75-mph before highway patrol will pull you over, so this person was essentially going 20 mph under the understood speed limit.

In my head, I wrote a scene with Lukas (one of my VHAMA characters). He’s the one that has road-rage issues–but good road-rage, not the kind of road-rage you see on TV with people literally driving over motorcyclists or getting out of the car and shooting the other drivers. Lukas is angry, but not crazy.

In my head, Lukas told his sister that if he were highway patrol, he’d revoke everyone else’s driver’s licenses. Anyone going under 60-mph would get pulled over, ticketed, and then moved to side-streets. Anyone who couldn’t stay in their own goddamn lane (he said “fucking lane,” but I figured that’s probably overkill) would encounter the same fate.

Lukas also often yells, “WHY ARE YOU GOING TWELVE MILES AN HOUR?” when driving behind someone going under 70. (Taylor can tell you that this comes from something I definitely do.)

(ADD side note: For the love of God, please keep professional emails to 250 words maximum. Some of us receive no fewer than 200+ emails a day. This isn’t high school; we do not require you add fluff to your essays.)

(This is where I give a giant middle finger to every teacher who took off points on my papers for not making them long enough. Guess what, honey? The real world wants short, simple, and to the point. I see your academic bullshit and the 2.89 GPA you gave me, and raise you the fact that I make more money than you do and I’m twenty-fucking-five.) 




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