I don't speed. And I'm not aggressive. In fact, I'm the complete opposite.
You see, I possess the uncanny ability to zone out. To disappear so completely into my own little utopian universe that I don't even notice visitors knocking on my sliding glass doors when I'm less than five feet away from them. I have this uncanny ability as a result of a lifetime of exposure to dangerous levels of aggravation.
Thanks, again, dad.
The problem is that, like a Pavlovian dog, I fall comatose at the slightest hint of annoyance. And driving is an annoyance.
Contrary to what the woman in the black Volvo on the Jamaicaway may think, it is not my intention to run people off the road. My only intention is to play air guitar to Train Kept A Rollin' (the Aerosmith version), sip my delicious Flat Black coffee, stay inspired, and avoid even the slightest nuance of rush-hour aggravation by losing myself in a fantasy-world filled with whatever it is that makes me happy at that precise moment in time.
And there are a lot of different things that make me happy. But not being annoyed is what makes me most happy. So all of the people rooting for me to become a more attentive driver? You're shit out of luck.