I dislike my driving instructor.

[godream]

So very, very annoyed. She didn't write down on her calendar the 7-8 half of our scheduled driving time, leaving me either stiffed the thirty bucks the lesson costs if she gives me credit for it or else inconvenienced by making it up. When I screwed up (though I still think I'm perfectly justified at shrinking in terror from leaping out in front of a fast car coming up that closely) she talked on and on and on about how I shouldn't be upset. ("No crying -- we don't have to get out the crying blanket now do we? Hah hah.") I wasn't upset till you kept harping on it for ten minutes, okay? And she smokes. Not in the car, true, but she still smells like smoke all the time. And I'm sorry to all the smokers out there, but it's not such a great habit when you spend hours in a confined space with the youth of tomorrow who would prefer our lungs unpolluted and not to sit in your stink, all right? And -- and -- grr. Oh yeah, and she spent another long while telling me that even if I hated driving I'd have to learn anyways. What better way to make me think I hate it than telling me I might just be the type of person who doesn't like driving and can't change that ... over and over and over again?! Coming off my lovely accident, I'm totally vulnerable to anything that plays on my rampant insecurity. It would be nice if she didn't take this big fat open wound as an opportunity to get easy jabs in, though. I'm sure she means well, but if she thinks she's being reassuring she could not be more wrong. Blech.

... this has been today's daily installment of whining, tune in tomorrow for more!