Things I Do on My Commute

I spend about 2 hours per day commuting during the workweek.
  1. Wrestle my purse, thermos, lunch box, workout bag, and smoothie into the car.
    I will drop or become entangled by one or more of these items every time. If I am wearing rain or winter gear, game over.
  2. Yell at my iPhone for auto-playing "the A Team" by Ed Sheeran every time I plug my phone in. Alphabetically, it's first on my song list. Emotionally, it is first on my list of reasons to throw my phone out the window.
    Does anyone know how to disable auto play? Anyone?
  3. Sigh heavily when Siri tells me traffic is worse than usual.
  4. Quietly cuss out drivers who don't give me the right of way on our tiny New England alley-style streets.
    It's my turn to go, dude.
  5. Sing loudly to Adele.
    SENDMAHLOVE TO YAH NEW LUH-HUH-VERH
  6. Listen to NPR
    Storycorps. I cry.
  7. Try to learn complicated rap lyrics.
    We don't have to talk about this one.
  8. Mutter to myself about how Rhode Islanders are the worst drivers in America.
    It's true, y'all.
  9. Dodge pot holes.
    These, like incompetent RI drivers, are everywhere. Hashtag where did my tax dollars go.
  10. Attempt to listen to podcasts. Lose focus halfway through.
    But heaven forbid I forget about SquareSpace, the universal and omnipresent sponsor of Every Single Podcast In The World.
  11. Drink my smoothie way too quickly.
    But why is the smoothie gone.
  12. Remember that I am on my way to work and wonder about what tasks I shall prioritize today.
  13. Attempt to plan my life out.
    The plan changes a lot.
  14. Call people via Bluetooth. Yell the whole time.
    CAN YOU HEAR ME OK? IM CALLING YOU FROM MY CAR.
  15. Fantasize about what I would do with these 2 hours every day if I weren't commuting.
    I'd be a marathoner. I'd bake stuff. I'd join clubs. I'd learn to code. I'd play the guitar. I'd take time getting ready in the morning. I'd write letters to Donald Trump reminding him he is the devil. I'd do laundry. I'd read all of those weekly copies of the Economist on my coffee table.