Well, it's rough. I mean, this is the first Sunday in a quite some time that doesn't involve a familial dinner, a celebratory party / function, or some other general type of merrymaking - am I right?
Let's face it: We've been in holiday mode pretty much since the day before Thanksgiving. It's become rote - and we like it.
Couldn't we milk this whole festive angle for just one more week? After all, it is Elvis Presley's birthday today. Why not toast with a little eggnog and cherry-slathered cheesecake, hmm? What? He was "The King," for heaven's sake. Oh, all right, fine, have it your own way. We're back to regular, plain old days.
At church, we call the season between, well, you know, seasons, "ordinary" time. It actually starts this Tuesday and lasts until the first day of Lent on Feb. 22.
Yep, ordinary time. Sigh.
I can't be sure, but I think ordinary time is directly correlative to the onset of a malady known as Nasty Navigatitum or NN. That's from the Latin, by the way, meaning "to drive under the influence of extreme hostility and agitation."
For those of us who commute more than 45 minutes one way for work each day, we're only too familiar with NN, for which there is presently no known cure.
Some of the dangerous side effects of the disorder include the following:
High Beam Incivility. We've all been there - on the receiving end of that steep hill game of headlight chicken. Here he comes, around the bend and as soon your headlamp glares collide, the contest of "who'll flick them off first?" begins. I rarely win at this game, BTW. And here's why: I'm a courteous driver. If my brights intersect your eyes in any way, shape, form or at any latitudinal or longitudinal degree, I'll shut 'em down for you. My theory is, no good is coming of my creating a blind spot right between your eyes. In fact, I won't "blind from behind," either - as so many suffering from NN do. Indeed, only if your taillights look like embers will I deem our distance acceptable so as to allow my brights as fair game. Speaking of game
Road Hunting is another bad, bad byproduct of NN. Have you seen this person behind the wheel - the guy or gal who is too engrossed in a text or phone conversation or in too much of a hurry to notice poor little Bambi and her cousins crossing the interstate? For the love of Rudolph, reign it in. Stop all the texting, eating, make-up application, cigarette lighting - stop all the distractions that could cost some poor little barnyard kitty one of her nine lives, will ya?
Boxed-in Bedlam. Look man, I don't care if you want to go 14 mph down East Market Street in the middle of rush hour traffic, but do you have to do it directly in front of me? I mean, why, when I accelerate to 32 mph to pass you, do you suddenly decide you: a. need to go faster, b. need to keep me behind you, and c. want to make sure that I can't move into any other spot on the road which might, at any given second, allow me to be a centimeter ahead of you. It's like you're trying to goad me into slamming right into you ... which truthfully has crossed my mind. But I won't, I won't. And do you know what I won't? Because I've counted to 5,000 and considered WWJD.
Look, I know Jesus didn't drive a car during his first earthly coming but if he did, I'm pretty positive he wouldn't hog the center lane on a dark, snowy morning, OK?
And so, as we grudge along into the rest of 2012, let's try to make every regular old day a happy one - or at least one that won't require a trip to confession by noon.
Kimerer is a Tribune Chronicle columnist. Contact her sans honking horns or blinding high beams at firstname.lastname@example.org.