First of all, let me confess that it might have been partly my fault. I was in a kind of daze when I left the house this morning, because I'd been working with Tim on his infamous letter, revision 43,687,925, and he just couldn't get it through his melon that if he works on an earlier version and sends it to me, I have to go back and make all the same corrections over and over and over.
Isn't that the definition of insanity? Or is it the definition of stupidity, when someone explains to you that the reason your head hurts is that you keep beating it against the wall and you keep on beating your head against the wall anyway? Harder, even?
After spending the whole morning trying to get out the door and over to Mom's to see how she's doing (and just basically trying to get away from the clanging phone), I wasn't seeing quite straight by the time I walked out the door an hour late. So it might have been partly my fault if every other driver on the road had no idea how to make a right turn without coming to a complete stop, or needed a whole city block to change lanes (the blinker going the whole way), or seemed to accept it as their sacred duty to keep me from getting anywhere.
Yeah, I'm sure all that was my fault. I just wasn't in my usual mellow driving mode. My tolerance level must have sunk below the Maginot, Mason-Dixon and Mendoza lines. My well of good feeling had run dry.
Okay, nothing really happened, but every other car seemed like a near-miss waiting to happen. Or nearly happen, I guess.
Um, that's the whole story. I had a bad morning, and it made me nervous while I was driving. Somehow I survived intact.