I went driving today.

We're assuming, for the sake of conversation, that the series of discrete actions I performed while in command of a motor vehicle could be construed as "driving". I do not think it merits the term because my brother was in passanger seat, and while I was "driving", he busied himself riding roughshod over my self esteem.

After the drive, he took the time to carefully inform me of faults in the way I drive, react, and think. He did this while seated in the car, while I was standing in a sandpile in our yard whose sole purpose is to become a receptacale for the collective dog crap of the neighbourhood. THe situation was not unlike that of a young officer who is called on the carpet before his captain. He responds entirely on autopilot. The only real difference was that the captain didn't threaten the officer with assault if he walked away, and the officer probably isn't thinking Don't cry. Ignore the stricture in your throat. Do not rush Captain Bligh and choke him to death with your keychain. Probably.

Frankly, I'm shocked that I have so much self-esteem tied up in my driving skills. Or maybye it's not that, it's that Ali was yelling at me, not my driving. Throughout the ride, he kept asking me what my problem is!?! and after I pulled into our yard, I informed him that it was some guy yelling at me in the passenger seat.

Come to think of it, I'm not sure if the tightness in my throat was due to anger, frustration, or emotional injury. Like I said before, we are one screwed up family. Telling someone what they did wrong does not equal helping. Whining about the advice you gave not being taken is not helping. [Mum, I'm looking at you.] Yelling at someone because 'it seems to be the only thing that works' != helping. Heck, it doesn't make sense. Have you tried anything else, Ali?

I shudder to think what my children will be like at my age.

//we're hooked again