fear and loathing

J is taking driving lessons, expensive driving lessons, which does not, as I had hoped, release me from the responsibility of taking her out driving and helping her to hone her newly acquired skills.  I dislike this intensely.

It is absurd for me to critique anyone's driving.  I am an inconsistent driver.  With the right music playing, the right weather outside the open window, and the right day behind me, I drive like I own the world, passing people, taking chances, and appearing as confident as if I knew what I was doing.  Deep in thought, however, I might back up into the garage door or a parked car.

Driving with J frightens me.  She takes her lessons in an automatic car, but mine is standard, and it is my task to teach her to drive standard.  I am a lazy standard driver anyway, riding the clutch rather than downshifting, and articulating what I am doing is nearly impossible.  J looks down at the gearshift rather than at the road when she changes gears.  She makes the car chug terrifyingly when she shifts.  She slows down to nearly a dead stop in the middle of the road before she can make a left turn.  And she travels through narrow gateways moving much too fast.


*