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Read Melissa's e-mail update and I swear, sometimes I despise how brilliant she is. Grr. You suck, Mel. You suck because you don't suck. Booo.

I literally drove 80 the whole way home. I'd set my pace, click cruise control, and realize it was set there. I wasn't anxious to get home or anything. Ohnonever. I had dirty laundry in the trunk and half a large cheese & olive pizza on the seat next to me, which is a first. Driving home I felt like a bag lady.

First question out of mom's mouth is "So how's school?"

Well. Heh. Funny story.

Explained the whole five-year-graduation-plight, which I think went over decently considering, and somehow I managed to change the subject each time she'd ask about specific friends and such.

I might be fine, but I'm not quite ready to talk about certain things yet.

There are two breeds of highway drivers. One keeps their speedometer safely at 65 or 70 because, wide-eyed-look, it's the law. They call everyone who passes them a speed-crazed whippersnapper. They listen to Enya to calm their jangled nerves.

The other type plays Tag. Vehicular Capture the Flag. Red Light Green Light, 'cept the red light never seems to come along. It's a death match to see who can come closest to the car in front of them before sliding into the next lane to pass.

I played. I think I came in third place. Hee.

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