Raging Against the New Machine

So you know when you're young and silly and rebellious and no matter how cool or hip (or not) your parents are you do the complete opposite just to prove those people can't have had anything to do with you? Well, apparently the same thing goes when you break up with someone who you've spent so many years with. Or that's my thinking this AM as I struggle to understand why I was such a dick yesterday.

See, yesterday while griping that today would be a day spent packing but not moving boxes (we signed the lease on Thursday! After Friday's last minute cleaning--on their part--today the place should be ours and ready to move it! But it's not) because somehow I totally neglected to remember that the Fremont Solstice Celebration will be invading my neighborhood. Big oops.

Instead of sympathizing with my horror of being stuck due to traffic and too many people on the street and just the insanity that today brings, one of the peeps at work says something like, "Oh, you live by Gas Works? So do I!"

Maybe she didn't notice my saying I was MOVING AWAY from our neighborhood because she then asks, "How do you get to work? Do you bike here?!?" All excited. Really, too excited. She took on this about-to-be-preachy look on her face if I gave the wrong answer, which of course I would have even if I did have the "right" answer. I simply could not stop myself, she was reminding me WAY too much of my X.

"I drive. Every single day. Everywhere." (Have I mentioned I hate driving? But at that moment I'd have extolled the wonders of all vehicles if I knew it would chide her. See, I knew what was coming. I must have used the force.)

"Oh," Her face got super serious, "You know you should be biking." Hmm, how did I know the conversation would turn to this?

"I did, every day, for a while, longer than you've been here, actually, then I got run over ON THE TRAIL, remember? That was me, limping around? That was me talking about my 7 hours in the emergency room? And the banana that is my front tire? Leaving early at least once a week to get my bones set to where they're supposed to be? In fact I have biked or walked every chance I've had for the last 13 years, from California to Mexico to Hawai'i and even downtown Seattle. But right now? I can't. Remember?"

"Oh yeah, huh."

Oh yeah. Huh.

Maybe if I "looked" my age, people would get off their high horses and/or keep their feet from entering their mouths. Because thinking back to when I was her age? (I'm thinking I'm a tad more than 10 years older than her) I would not have suggested to anyone I worked with at the time that they should get on a bike to get to work (as I did, every single day). Especially not if I knew they were in their mid 30s and didn't seem very um, Sporty Spice, if you know what I mean. (Limping? Big clue.)

Apparently I have triggers. And no patience for people who are about to tell me how I should be living my life when they know so little about me. And biking? I'd love to, really. But I'm 20 lbs heavier than I ought to be and 35 feels so much closer to 40 when you get up just every morning and wonder why you hurt so much, so please don't throw it into my face that I should be doing x instead of y.

Obviously it's a sore point. See, you get older, you learn things about yourself. Now the next step is not to react so evilly. Maybe I can work on my patronizing skills instead?

Happy Solstice!