Monday, November 26, 2007


I often find myself getting annoyed by how not in a hurry all the drivers around here seem to be. On Saturday this was the case as well. I just wanted some efficiency in my driving, gosh darn it.

But suddenly I asked myself, "Why am I always annoyed with other people's slow driving?"

I guess if I were always late, that would be one thing. But I'm usually on time. And driving-- I enjoy it. I'm not anxious to get off the road.

Who am I mad at? Am I really mad at the driver in front of me? Or am I mad at myself for having such inner stress that I can't take a simple trip to the mall without being overcome by its innate disorder and chaos?

There's no peace in being a person driven by a need for order. Order... balance... justice... whatever. And I'm not quite sure that either the productivity or the self-satisfaction yielded by such a drive is enough to compensate for how cumbersome it can be on the things that don't really matter.

I still straighten hangers at stores. while shopping.

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