This I believe.
I am not really the best driver.
This position was reinforced for me March 16th, 2009 7:55 a.m. It sounded just like the back of my car hitting something hard. I have heard this sound before; this sound is usually consolidated with an explicative in my head. I get out of my car; the other driver assures me he is okay. He seems okay save for the look of disbelief on his face: “Did you not see me?” He asks.
This is not the time or the place for my monologue on why I cease to ever look behind me when backing up with a thundering prologue on how I do not really care for driving. I scratch the back of my head, make an embarrassed face, exchange information and resume my drive to work in a car that is now decorated with one more dent.
I find that I have my best day dreams while playing in the far left outfield during work sponsored softball or while driving. During both of these activities, I like to consider what I will eat later on, what my boss meant when he said what he said that morning, what my parents would ideally buy me for my birthday, people that could potentially get suckered into adopting my vindictive, hateful cat. Something I never think about while playing softball or driving: United States traffic laws.
Let’s look at this in perspective: no, I am not strong at driving, but yes, I do have some talents. I can make a ridiculously good quiche. I can text very fast. I feel I wear dark eye make up well. Nicknames that I assign to people usually stick. I can run three miles in a row. Slowly. I tan better than most people.
This I believe: I am not really the best driver and that is okay.
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