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Monday, September 13, 2004

Driving me insane.

I have theories - here are some:

  • I'm a schizophrenic. My normal, everyday self is the dominant personality. The other, repressed personality only manages to crawl out of the shadowy dephs of my subconcious when I am traveling at a velocity exceeding the 50 m/h boundary. If and when it does, it runs amok with my body and mind.
  • My car is possessed by either Satan himself or one of his lesser minions. This entity (for that is what I'll call it) possesses both the car and the person driving it. However, the aforementioned entity will not be powerful enough to fully acquire control over my resilient mind until the car surpasses a certain amount of RPM's.
  • The third, and in my opinion least likely theory, is that I'm a madman.
What am I talking about, I hear you ask? I'll explain.

I've noticed, lately, that I go utterly and completely insane when I'm alone in my car. This is especially true if it's a little later during the day, preferably after dark. And I don't even mean the standard 'roadrage' insane - I have no problem whatsoever with my fellow drivers. It's just that I lose control over both my vocal cords and, well, the rest of my body.

Explain it to us, Martin! I hear you scream. Relax, don't rush me, I will tell all.

The least troublesome of the things I do when alone in my car is, I start talking out loud. Not to my self, per se, but to anyone and anything. I've struck up conversation with my gearstick (not a euphemism, mind) more than once.

Tell us more, tell us more!! I notice you yelling. Stop it! You're disrupting the flow of my mind. I'll proceed.

It seems the catalyst of the really scary stuff is music. The second I turn on the radio, I go mad; I start singing and dancing like a complete maniac. I do. Stop laughing - this is not a laughing matter. It's worrying me, to be frank. I never dance, and I never sing, but I can't stop doing both these horrible acts when I'm in my car. I drum my steeringwheel, clap my hands, sing out loud, dance (to the degree that it's possible to dance, being 6' 5'' and driving a Mini) - you name it, I do it. In general, I make a buffoon out of myself.

Oh my god, we're so sorry. I hear you sobbing. Don't be - it's not your fault.

This is my plight, ladies and gentlemen. I have to live with this, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week - I don't know if I have the strenght and the courage to go on like this.

God help me.

Cheers

1 Comments:

Blogger Martin said...

I was crying while writing it, that's how disturbing this all is to me.

:-)

Cheers

4:35 pm  

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