Beep Beep

On rotation today, I discovered that I left my wallet at home, meaning that I would have to drive the 30 minutes home without it. Incidentally, I also left my lunch, so by the time I got into the car, my blood sugar was already dropping. (No diabetes, just hypoglycemia.)

In any case, my immediate reaction was to be upset that I would have to be extra careful while driving, which then brings to mind the question of why I drive so quickly (and hopefully not too recklessly) the rest of the time. I don't make it a habit to cuss, but there's an extraordinary number of mental f-bombs dropped every morning as I commute. I read somewhere once how little time is saved by speeding, and I started calculating the exact number of minutes as I drove. Of course, it all went out the window when I missed a turn and ended up taking another 30 miles of detour to get back to the same spot. The profanity returned, along with an ever-growing urge to cry. That's a whole gallon of gas right there!

In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't make a difference if you're 23 minutes early as opposed to 30, and that gallon of gas costs as much as a cup of coffee that you can simply forgo. Perhaps all of this rage and emotional exhaustion contributes to the mental lassitude that makes writing so difficult these days.