Measuring madness

I was driving home from work tonight, just getting off the West End Bridge, when a minivan in the next lane started drifting into mine. I was right beside it, not even back in the blind spot, so I was sure it was a mistake and instead of honking the horn, I hit the gas and sped to the red light.

The minivan pulled in behind me, honking away. I looked in my rearview mirror, and there was a middle-aged woman in the driver's seat on the phone, flipping me the bird and hollering something out the window. I couldn't hear what, but man, I was game!

I rolled down my window and told the bitch (I think that was the worst I called her) to get off the phone and pay attention to the road, something about where to find her turn signals too. Ah, hormones. The next six months are going to be fun.

A great thing about my new blood pressure medicine is it does its job even when I'm in distress. I know this because I've whipped out my blood-pressure-taking machine at times when I've been really mad (there's been a few of those episodes in the past week) and the reading was still low.



I looked at the three houses tonight and all of them had great stuff going for them, but none suited my needs exactly. Except the one I wrote yesterday that was my favorite. I called my dad over to look at it and he found what I was blind to: Dead rodents, black mold, peeling paint from water damage. But otherwise it was charming. Especially the two ducks mating in the pool. Neighbors say they come free with the house.

Back to the drawing board.