I’m going to die.  In a fiery car wreck.  I’m convinced of it.  Don’t ask me why or how.  I just know that’s how I will ultimately meet my demise.

Which tends to make me a really bad passenger – as poor Willie will attest to.  So please, for your own sake, don’t ever offer me a ride.  Because I’ll likely drench your seat in sweat, claw nail marks into some location of your interior that’s conducive to gripping with excessive force, or accidentally put my foot through your floor boards as I attempt to stand on that imaginary brake that I always hope is there.  I’m convinced that I see possible driving mishaps long before you ever will and that I’m much better equipped to get us out of harm’s way, if only the passenger side or backseat had it’s own brake and steering wheel.

And it’s not that I don’t trust YOUR driving.  No, no.  I’m sure you’re a very safe driver.  I don’t trust the other people out on the road around us.  I don’t trust that they’ll forget to check their blind spot and change lanes right into us.  I don’t trust that they’ll notice that red light or stop sign in time and t-bone us.  I don’t trust that they’re paying close enough attention to the person in front of them putting their brakes on.  I certainly don’t trust that big rig beside me isn’t going to drift into my lane and squeeze me up against the guardrail.  I don’t trust that the car I’m riding in doesn’t become instantly invisible the moment I get in it and that the other drivers won’t even see us.

I don’t trust that your steering wheel will work properly when we’re on a large, curvy, up very high, highway bridge and that we will careen off the side to our death below.  Which is why I bury my head in my lap and starting ferociously reading in an attempt to distract myself while going over the bridge – please just let me do my thing.  I also don’t trust that when I’m driving, my hands won’t unconsciously jerk said steering wheel into the side of said bridge thus causing some kind of spontaneous uncontrollable self-directed accident.  Which is why I don’t drive on really big bridges.  Because frankly I don’t trust myself.

Yes, I acknowledge that some kind of therapy might be helpful.

So many worries.  And yet driving is what I do.  All the time.   My round-trip commute to work is an average of 90 minutes a day (under good conditions).  So I spend a lot of time in my car.  All pretty much highway driving.  And I’ve been doing that for about 12 years.  Which is also worrisome because the longer I go without any kind of driving incident, I would think that my chances increase for just such an event.

So I’m due.  Really soon.  And I don’t want any of you to say “oh, poor dear – she never even knew what happened.”  Because I will know EXACTLY what happened, and you can be sure that the last words out of my mouth will be “awww crap – I KNEW it!!!!!”