I. Hate. The. DMV.

The Department of Motor Vehicles is trying to raise my blood pressure.

I can only assume this is their attempt to be helpful; perhaps if my blood pressure seems high, I will go have that checked out, get a basic check-up, find a South Carolina doctor of my very own. It's way past time I found a doctor here.

Really, their concern is so endearing.

I just wish they'd say they want me to see a doctor.

Instead they insist on telling me something different every time I enter their hallowed doors attempting my current goal, producing forms I have already filled out, which must be filled out again because they don't like the old one, although they won't tell me why, exactly. When I dare ask questions, things get kind of hairy.

Oh, you looked up rules for what you can do on the website? Well, that's not exactly right, and let me be as condescending as possible in explaining to you why not, despite the fact that the website says it. After all, you're clearly not old enough to know what you're doing in any way, and I want to make sure you are very aware that I am treating you like a child.

See? My blood pressure is going up again already.

If I'm not old enough to be talked to like I'm an adult (which, nominally, I am) I feel like I should be able to just stop doing all that stuff adults have to do. Just start going "NO!" when I don't want to do something.

Not that that really worked that well when I was young and adorable.

But they're only concerned about my well-being, I'm sure. They just want me to think perhaps I should see my general practitioner, and this is their way of helping me get there.

I am sitting here now, with absolutely nothing accomplished except that I have yet another copy of the same form I must fill out, reminding myself to breathe.   

In, out. 

In, out.


No one ever made their day better by stewing over the DMV.

Then again, the DMV doesn't really make anyone's day better either.

I will try again tomorrow, valiant heroine that I am.

Next time, I will succeed.  I'm sure of it.

Next time, they will let me give them my money and in return provide me with the goods and services I require to accomplish my to-do list.

Hopefully I walk into work tomorrow feeling good about myself, having accomplished my plans. It will make my little four-hour shift go by faster, and a cheerful Katie is much more fun to work with than a fuming Katie furiously making muttering sounds at the espresso machine all afternoon.

Also, since I'm pretty sure I have plans to go on a date downtown with my husband tomorrow? A cheerful Katie is much more fun on a date than the fuming Katie who snarls at stoplights.

Grrr. Stupid red lights. They're clearly out to get me.

Then maybe, maybe the stoplights just want me to see a doctor, too.


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