saving all my sentences

It is impossible to reason with moths.
I just learned this after spending the better part of an hour stopping what I was doing to track this moth’s movement around my room and then eventually trying to kill it. This thing was freaking the fuck out. I don’t like moths in the first place, but this one was just making me nervous with all the flitting about. So I kind of started trying to corral it at first, the way a sheepdog would go about herding. I don’t know what I was planning to do after that, but it didn’t work so it doesn’t matter. Then I figured I would, in a cordial gesture, leave the door open for my new roommate. Maybe the moth’s frantic zipping around the room was just anxiety about being trapped or something. No such luck. I don’t know if this thing was fucking with me because it knew I was afraid of moths. In any case, I eventually smacked it when it landed on my window shade with of one those awful buzzing/flapping noises that keep me up at night. You know the one. For a second I thought it might have been a firefly, and felt bad momentarily because those are kind of nice, but then I remembered I detest that song “Fireflies.” While the lightning bugs themselves are obviously not to blame for Owl City’s insufferable musicianship or whatever you want to call it, I’m not above their getting in my irritated path.
Point is, it was a moth anyway so I have no regrets.

Adding to the list of reasons I will certainly be driving a small car when/if the day comes that I finally scrape together enough money to buy my own:

Driving in the city doesn’t bug me, but finding parking stresses me out to no end. I’m actually fairly good at parallel parking (if I do say so myself), because we had to park on the street at my high school. However, the combination of convincing myself that any open spot has something wrong with it and my lack of spatial reasoning abilities - and thus crippling panic over whether I can fit in a spot once I find one - drives me nuts. Plus, I freak out since the narrow streets either force fellow drivers to wait for me to finally pull into the spot, heart racing and breath coming quickly (or give up after a couple failed attempts due to a sudden lack of fine motor skills), or to angrily maneuver around me. The Forester is good for many things, but this is not one of them, and it’s not even that big at all! That Smart certainly doesn’t have this problem. Anything nice and small, though - even a sedan, really - would save me those agonizingly long moments of trying to decide whether I can weasel my way into a spot.

After visiting friends in Brooklyn a couple weeks ago and experiencing the all-too-familiar anxiety, plus with three other people in the car and several minor freak-outs, I was reminded of one of the few snippets that has remained with me from that well-regarded literary classic, Princess In Love: The Princess Diaries Volume III. In said excerpt, our maverick protagonist Mia Thermopolis is detailing the things she hates about New York City during the holidays:

1. Tourists who come in from out of town in their giant sport utility vehicles and try to run you over at crosswalks, thinking they are driving like aggressive New Yorkers. Actually, they are driving like morons.

Yes, I come from out of town, and technically I drive an SUV, but I wouldn’t call myself a tourist, and clearly I am no aggressive driver. So I’d like to think instead that the douchebags who honk mercilessly at me while I am simultaneously navigating my fragile emotional state and an intimidating stretch of pavement belong in this category. Especially when they advise me to learn how to fucking drive. Little do they know that I am usually a very calm and collected person, even when it comes to driving! So there.

But really, what is the point? Everywhere you go has valet.