I'm trying not to write about physical pain, as I wrote about a few days ago.  So from now on, if I mention it, I'll call it petunias or pickles.   Fields of petunias.  Gallons of pickles.  Still doing everything in my power to turn the corner. 

Stopped at a red light this morning, the man behind me honked his horn.  There was no one coming either way and I could have easily run the light, might have, in fact, had he restrained his urge to blow his blasted horn.

Yesterday, a woman driver waved her hand impatiently as if ushering me forward, quick quick, move it! Maybe she's used to ushering little kids back inside a classroom after recess, but the fastest way to slow me down is to order me to hurry up, rebel that I am. 

Advice is rankling on a good day--except the kind of advice among friends that is implicitly asked for in some cases. Advice (orders, honks, hand gestures, and mouthed insults)  from impatient strangers in a car ranks at the top of my short list of peeves.