vroom, vroom

When the driving examiner yells STOP and grips the dashboard, that's gotta be a clue that your test is not going well. Driving Examiners: 2, Catherine: 0.

mirror, mirror, clickety-clack

For a month now I've being talking out loud to myself when I drive. My mantra? "Mirror, mirror, signal. Mirror, mirror, signal." This is so that I don't repeat the mistakes I made on my last driving test. Tomorrow is the test (woo hoo!!!) and all I need to do now is KEEP QUIET! I cannot be freaking out the examiner by talking to myself throughout the test.

I have some anxiety about the test -- not the actual driving bit -- but the possible meltdown if I flunk again. The best I could come up with in therapy was that in failing last time it felt like *I* was being graded -- that on the score sheet that the examiner used was an extra line that read "Catherine Jones, Life" and he'd crossed off every box with the word FAILED.

Now, I've looked over every corner of the sheet and I can reassure you that it doesn't have a line for the driving examiner to grade me as to whether I'm a worthwhile human being or not. If I pass I'm going into town to celebrate at the Tuesday meeting of the Cork Camera club. If I flunk, I'm going into town to meet some new people, at the Cork Camera club. Before that I should have just enough time for a walk and a quick bite to eat. Either way, it should be okay.

I've been doing quite a bit of writing lately, inspired by the work of Mary Ellen Copeland. If you've ever suffered depression or some other mental illness I bet you'll like her tools. She's strong on hope, support, and personal responsibility on the path to wellness. She's also big on lists. Me, I love lists. I really, really love lists.

1. Driving test
2. Work
3. Lunch and a walk
4. Work
5. Dinner and a walk
6. Cork Camera club
7. Take meds
8. Bed


If I stick to the list, I'm not gonna go wrong.

Vrrooom vroom, an update!

I'm taking driving lessons with an actual driving instructor (as opposed to my long-suffering and ever so patient sister) and we start tomorrow. I hope to get my nerves under control. All I know is that his name is Liam, he's 50-something, and is supposed to be a drill sergeant. Good, 'cos I need it!

My test date is coming soon, and I know if I took it tomorrow I'd flunk. Each time I go out it's a little easier, but I still need loads of practice.

Let's not read too much into this, omen-wise, but I did come inches, mere inches away from running over the local parish priest last Thursday! I am visualizing success! Success!