Surviving the Commute

One of my older daughters (the quietest one)
once confessed  that every now and then, driving
alone on the highway, she'll scream within 
the enclosure that's her car for no reason 
other than that she can. Call it what you will—
catharsis, relief from the ordinary crush of days,  
our lumbering through foibles as well as more pressing 
problems. The windows are up, and it doesn't last very long. 
Motorists on the road who happen to glance sideways 
might think she was simply singing along to the radio. 
In this, just as you've been taught, you keep your eyes 
on the road, your hands on the wheel. But no one ever
said anything about how to handle the bumper-
to-bumper traffic, stalled or coursing through you.