Driving II

I had my first driving lesson the other day- it was fucking miserable. It was dark and rainy, and my instructor wouldn't shut up about how I had to take things one step at a time. Wasn't his fault, tbh- it's a generic thing to say- but I'm easily irritated. I hate driving anyway.

Then today, whilst talking about my driving lesson, Mum got irritated that I only passed 4/22 of the competencies. Then I asked Dad to try a different instructor, preferably someone who talks less, and Mum blew up at me.

Not quite so literally, but close enough.

"YOU CAN'T JUST GIVE ALL THE RESPONSIBILITY TO YOUR DAD," she screamed, and I wonder how such a small and slender woman is capable of producing sounds loud enough to rupture my eardrums. "IT'S YOUR OWN FAULT THAT YOU WON'T GET YOUR OWN INSTRUCTOR."

",,,Well, I don't really want to drive anyway"

Ouch. I wince at my past self. That was almost the worst thing I could've said at the time. In hindsight, I should have probably just accepted the fact that everything was inevitably my fault. I suppose it IS my fault that I'm being so ungrateful- my parents ARE paying for my lessons, after all. We have a car for me to drive, they're willing to practise with me--- the only problem is me.

Then my mother said something along the lines of, "Well I suppose forcing you to drive is no good, should we try begging next?" I don't like her sarcasm. "Let's see how you feel when your license expires, and you have to take another test to get it. In fact, let's just wait until you're off in Uni, and you're gonna have to pay for your own lessons. I wonder how enthusiastic you'll be then."

...I'm not sure what I did to warrant such bitter statements. There are nicer ways to communicate what she wanted me to understand- my license is going to expire, and instructors are expensive. I just wish she wasn't so...

I guess I wish for too much.

"Actually, I'd prefer a chauffeur"

I retreated to my room afterwards, and even through closed doors I could hear her unmistakable loud voice, talking about me. I'm not sure whether she wanted me to hear- but every time she had talked behind my back, I've pretty much been able to catch the gist of the conversation. I hate her voice. I really, really do.

If you're going to say shit about me whilst I'm not there, at least make sure that I can't hear, geez. Otherwise, I guess you can always tell me to my face. Hearing this kind of stuff is the worst...

...Man, the shit I cop for not being able to drive a car.