Sunday, May 28, 2006



Since my accident, I know I've been a far more nervous and worse driver. Last night, two of my friends and I went out to Pasadena, which is about 40 minutes away. Somehow, even though I've talked to both of them several times about how much I hate driving these days, I ended up behind the wheel. I know they listen to me, and I know they know how I feel about driving. I think it is probably just easy to disregard or forgot about that stuff when it might effect you directly. And they probably just didn't want to drive. I know I can't never be the one to drive the group again, so I can deal with that.

Or maybe I can't. Because both ways, by the time we were getting close to Pasadena, and then by the time we were getting close to home, I was so wracked with stress about driving, that I felt like a hole was burning in my stomach. It's really bad. Almost a whole month after the accident, I still don't know that I feel any calmer or more settled about driving at all. And if, god help them, one of my friends tried to comment, criticize or make a suggestion about my driving, I would either snap at them or give them an icy glare. Because I couldn't help but resent them for making me be the one to drive. As soon as the car was parked and I was home again, I could see how unreasonable that was, but my panic made me mean.

Driving-phobic is a very inconvenient thing to be, especially in L.A.

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