Notes from the Home bound

Not being allowed to drive really sucks. In fact, I don’t think the word “suck” totally captures just how awful it is. In a city which has awful public transportation (and I’m being generous with that description), relying on the love of my parents, the kindness of friends, and my good looks to get rides is a pain. I’m all about voting for the monorail. Did you hear that? VOTE FOR THE MONORAIL!!!!!!

My dad is taking me to work and I really appreciate it, since the bus ride from my house to the place where I do Lawyerly Things is just under two hours. Yep, usual driving time is about 15 minutes but COTA has the ability to really drag it out. In a week’s worth of early morning commuting with dad, I’ve found it’s really hard for me to be cheery and civil. Morning and I don’t mix as a rule and when I have medication in my system that demands I sleep for 20 hours at a time, my gneral morning attitude is even worse. Until now, I’ve never realized how much I hate talking to people before 11 a.m., even if they are related to me by blood and are doing me a huge favor. I really rely on that drive time to listen to my celebrity gossip on the radio, to pump up the music and let out my inner Britney Spears, and generally to inhale enough Diet Coke so I can talk to strangers without being too snarky. Plus, dad listens to books on tape and after he drops me off, he has his own drive to work and his drive home. During that time, he gets a few chapters ahead of what I last heard. I finally was on board with the book on tape he was listening to on Wednesday, but when I got in the car on Thursday, he had finished the book. I didn’t know who the murder was. Do you know how frustrating that is?!? Now I have no resolution to this stupid story and it is driving me crazy. If I could drive, I would go to the library myself and check out the darn tape so I could listen for ten minutes and know who killed Suzy. Grrr.

I’ve also realized that the inability to drive is putting a damper on my love life. Imagine the conversation, “Hello, Mr. First Date. This is my mother. She drove me. I’m looking forward to dinner.” That will go over well. Plus, my mom will know every single detail of my love life and I will have to relive this six month window of dating fiascoes until I finally provide her with a grandchild or I die, whichever comes sooner.

My social life, my ability to randomly go grab something from the store, my gym time…It has all taken a plunge. Well, who am I kidding? I go to the gym now just as much as I did when I could drive. But the option is gone, and that’s what matters.

As soon as I get car privileges back, I am taking a road trip. Just because I can.

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