I get it. You have a disability. Clearly. And it very well may have originated in a fiery, multi-car pileup and that would perfectly explain your Speed-Limit-Minus-10mph philosophy. But please understand that the rest of us would like to arrive at our destinations today, if possible, and would rather not line up behind you like baby ducks behind their gimpy mother. Here's a suggestion: let somebody else drive. Preferably somebody in a goddamn hurry.
Here's a thought to ponder (I know I certainly do): the older you get the less time you have left on this planet so don't waste it taking four times as long as necessary to get where you're going. Do not go gentle into that intersection. You need to rage, rage against the changing of the traffic light. It's not a covered wagon and it's not a mule train. It's a 1994 Lincoln Continental and that thing under your right foot is the accelerator, Gramps. Sure, your eyesight is shot, your reflexes and reaction time are shadows of their former selves, and your hearing is practically nonexistent, but these things should all be saying to you, "drive faster! FASTER!"