It struck me as odd last night on my walk home from work as to why we all build up great amounts of stress over events, people, things we really can't control. The traffic, which will forever be condensed like a pack of sardines unless you're swimming upstream at midnight. Or how we spend our time, always inevitably late to everything. And a personal favorite for me, immediately getting that tense sensation in my shoulders as my car carries me over that hill, right before I set eyes on my apartment building: whether or not I can park my car somewhere.

You see, she's a beauty. She really is. So I hate to take her out on these roads resembling old, grumbly men, arguing over who gets the business section of the post while failing to realize that they're both growing holes. They'll tear her up, no doubt. I hate to take her out in the snow because she's a bit fickle as well. Doesn't like the wintry mix beneath her tires. So I take it upon myself to slip around and get a meager amount of exercise walking to and from work most days. Partly so I don't have to drive in the snow and mostly so I don't have to worry about where I'm going to park her.

Yet, on those days when I do leave her be to sleep while I trudge along, I end up worrying more about the other drivers. Yes, the ones that will potentially hit me, not unlike last night on my walk back from work.

You see, yesterday I wrongly assumed that since the tea-leaf readers we call meteorologists said it would be close to fifty degrees outside, that would mean that it would be warm enough to wear a light coat. Yet, invariably, every time I set foot outside the back door of my modest nine-story office building, it always seems to be colder than I wished, and certainly colder than in the morning. And as I stood shivering at the corner of the intersection, watching the traffic lights to see when it was my turn (because, of course, the dimwitted county decided to install pedestrian indicators only on one side of the street), I heard a honking.

It was coming from the direction I was headed, a right turn lane, one whose traffic would have to yield to me as I crossed. A bus sat idling in the lane, obviously waiting for its turn as two lanes of turning traffic delayed the continuation of its journey. So when the light finally changed and I half walked, half trotted across the highway, the bus having gone before me, I came very close to two cars nearly running me down.

I suppose it would have been my fault if there had not been a sign for that right line clearly indicating that not yielding to pedestrians would result in a fine. However, the rage and anxiousness of these drivers had prevented them from seeing this sign, and ultimately, seeing me until I was right in front of them.

I uttered an "Umm…?", raising my eyebrows in disappointment and half amazement as the car slammed on it's break, and then sighing, I said "thank you…" not really in thanks that they hadn't tumbled over me, but more that they should've known better.

And I wasn't the only one crossing the street at that moment, although I did happen to be the first and did receive the superlative for most likely to become a pancake. But what irks me the most is that it'll take the same amount of time to reach a destination if the driver is calm or if they are annoyed, anxious, pissed-off, or angry. Adding that extra stress doesn't help in the least, but makes situations much more worse. Mythbusters even proved that you waste more gas when you're angry or annoyed than when you're calm. So why not take an extra moment to calm down a bit, keep your eyes on the road and let the chips fall where they may (and preferably not the people).