It took two hours and fifteen minutes to drive to work this morning. With no traffic, the trip is an hour and ten minutes. With normal traffic it is an hour and thirty minutes. When I finally battled the stop and go nonsense along Route 1 and emerged into Cambridge, I found myself behind a garbage truck. Completely stopped. In a long line of traffic. This was a full half hour after my GPS had optimistically declared I would arrive at my destination. I lost it and belted out a primal scream behind the closed windows of the Outback. Not proud of it. No sir. At the time, it felt like the only way to emit some of that irrational anger that had been building since the guy in the black Camry cut me off as he chatted away on his cell.
I should be used to this. I should be better equipped at dealing with the stress of these situations. It is useless to get angry. I know it's a waste of energy and emotion. Not to mention how the experience framed the entire day. Upon finally arriving at work, I had to evacuate my cubicle and roam to the stationary shop down the street to drown my sorrows in pretty papers and the scent of hard cover journals. Desperate times.
I want to be better at not letting these irrelevant things under my skin. They're irrelevant and it's impossible to change them. There are so many more worthwhile endeavors to apply my passion but in the moment, it is incredibly hard to let the silly ones go.
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