Cheers and Jeers

Spokane has some interesting drivers. It always has. Over the last few months, though, I've been noticing some... changes. Interesting differences. New weirdness. People parked curbside with their door wide open into the driving lane while apparently pleasantly conversing with a friend on the sidewalk. A truck idling while sitting in the middle of an intersection with cars stopped and waiting on two sides. An SUV lazily turning right. From the center turn lane across two lanes of traffic. Weirdness.

I have a theory. I think it's inexperienced nouveau-stoners trying to figure out how to drive while high. This new weirdness I've been noticing never moves fast. It's not road rage or stress or rush hour. I think they are thinking at half speed. They are certainly moving at half speed. If they are moving at all. I wonder if states legalizing recreational marijuana should conduct an education campaign focused not on cautionary tales of a newly legalized intoxicant, but instead offering judgement-free information on what it feels like to be stoned. At first, it's all millennials and hippies and long hair at the bud bar, but now, about a year into recreational dispensaries, it's fewer stereotypical stoners and more soccer moms, grandparents, and bankers. They are the ones that maybe took a hit or two in college, maybe even three or four, but fell in line with societal expectations by refusing to succumb to the evil Reefer Madness. A year in, and the world hasn't imploded because we legalized pot, so they're coming out of the hot box.

It's not these languid, awkward, probably-stoned drivers that get my jeers, though.

It's me.

Driving on Indiana today, I had the pleasure of observing as the aforementioned SUV turned right from the center lane across two lanes of traffic. Traffic moving in the same direction as them before they decided to turn. Five or six cars, actually, right behind said SUV and moving in the same direction. I was one of those five or six cars.

"Niiiiiice, you dumb b!t@h."

It actually took me a breath or two before I realized *my* voice had said that.

I don't say things like that.

I don't even think things like that. Jeers to me.

Now, I could spend hours puzzling over the source of that unexpected rage. I could write about cancer and finances and anxiety and brain damage and menopause. I could lock myself away in my head and chase my own tail to infinity.

But honestly, I don't care why I said it. I don't care because *immediately* upon realizing that it was ME saying those hateful words, my little inner Buddha began to cry. As soon as I had said it, I knew that it hurt me to say it. I could beat myself up for days for being spiteful and petty and juvenile, but instead, I am so very happy that despite the *hell* of the last two years, there is still compassion in me. My very humanity is bruised and weary, but it's alive. Cheers to that :-)

Well, I obviously wasn't stoned.