When I Drive

When I drive,I get into this really weird Zen like mood.

The kind of zone I’ll be in when I get my hair shampooed in a high end salon that calls themselves a “hair studio”.Or the kind of zone I’ll be in when I get so awfully mad,the rage has been converted into a substantial mass of uncalled for calmness.You know,like the calm before the storm.Approximately after 47 minutes,the calm wears off and I’ll be thinking silently whether to execute your death with a chainsaw or a fork (good things come in small packages right?).Approximately 14 minutes after my hair is covered in peachy shampoo foam,I’ll start beaming like that monkey from Aladdin.

When I drive,I have words like “You are on the road,brakes on the road,accelerate on the road,brakes.brakes,brakes,breaks,breaks,i’m braking,i’m breaking.” going round my head like capoeira music or the awkward whisperings in an 80s love song,even when AC/DC’s Highway To Hell is playing.

People tend to think I don’t listen when I drive.They are wrong.When people talk when I drive,they are torturing me.I’d like to think my driving experience as a taking LSD experience.My dad would say things like “Turn left” or “Turn right” and those words go into a tunnel of galaxies and they’ll start squirming and repeating in autotuned voices or Morgan Freeman voices.Like how you’ll imagine to be in a time travelling experience.So when people start talking to me about sushi like ” I hate it when the wasabi sticks onto the sushi,I mean I don’t even like wasabi that much” All of those has spiralled down into my LSD driven mind. Repeating about 34 times ala Whoopi Goldberg.

But of course I hope these spectrum bizarreness of mask my horrible driving skills and my need to speed in a suburban neighborhood as if I’m in GTA.

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