Lackluster And The Urge To Murder
My birthday came and went with not so much of a *bang* but a whimper, staying in and planning on visiting the dreaded DMV to renew my California license on the Monday following. I stood in line to get a ticket to stand in line once more whereas I hardly spent 15 minutes at the DMV in Kansas, so this made my nerves a little raw to stand in line 45 minutes just to get a deli-style ticket and be lined up to see if we were allowed to wait inside even longer for our magic number to be called to get my propers.
Crying children, dumb jocks, boys who look like used q-tips with their moppy hair and painfully thin emo 70s bodies, white trash from east county, and your random ‘mos notwithstanding – I stood ignoring the great unwashed to get my license.
Denied.
I’m sorry you can’t get your license until your record is cleared in Connecticut.
Pardon?
You have some unfinished traffic issues and a suspended license in Connecticut.
I haven’t been there since I was 17 and I surrendered my license my freshmen year of college, lived in 3 states since then and you are telling me that it’s revoked?
Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.
Then it all came back to me. My fucking brother had written my name on traffic tickets he’d gotten while ‘driving without a license’ 7 or 8 years ago and now all the birds have come home to roost.
Steaming mad, I called and threatened my parents and brother with unspeakable acts causing them to fly into a mad panic and rage, turning it all back on me like I was the one committing identity theft in the nutmeg state. After many heated email exchanges, between my family, myself, and my brother’s boyfriend detailing the steps and when I’ll take to seek legal counsel, the only adult in this whole mess (my brother’s boyfriend) played mediator to get me to calm the eff down and to make my brother stop being the bitchy mess he so quickly reverts to under pressure.
Now, I’m in driving limbo, having attempted to seek out information from both CT and California DMVs to find that I’ve been put on a national “do no drive” list that prevents me from getting a license in any state in the union. Fab. And now the mountains of paperwork, pleading, and proving in a logical manner this couldn’t possibly be me doing this while my brother drives without impunity.
Long ago, I’d forgiven him because he told me it was all taken care of. His words, not mine. Last week, those were replaced with fuck-yous and tough-shits and you’re-not-my-brother all directed at me for being matter of fact and a cool headed adult (after I calmed the eff down).
This week, the resolution hangs while I type up my deposition detailing the details under duress to get that chip of plastic and a bad photo so I can drive, get on a flight, write checks, work various state programs, and many other things one might enjoy if they had identification.
Today, I sit in my bedroom playing video games, smashing, exploding, destroying, and jumping up and down on things I imagine to display my brother’s face.
