So here’s a click-to-enlarge picture-> of the normal afternoon traffic hell that follows picking up Joey at his program.
The path from the facility to our house includes an infernal intersection. The cars in front of me are stacked in a line with no traffic light to give us access to the major, busy street ahead. And the drivers on that street are inattentive lumps of upholstery filler when it comes to leaving space for us to get in. Fat women in manic conversation on phones tucked in their chins and scuzzy guys fiddling with their cancer sticks pull across the intersection, even when the traffic ahead of them is stopped by a red light. As you can see in my rear view, more cars are piling up in the lame hope that every five minutes or so a rare alert driver on the big street will let one of us make a right turn to join the moving traffic.
Yes, care giving stinks. Chores – endless rituals of service that are expected rather than appreciated and ordained rather than chosen – are a big part of the stench.
I love our kid. I love the good programs he attends and the great people who provide them.
But this stupid afternoon drive I will not miss.