Feeling: Stupid. tired. angry. Stupid.
Listening to: Course of Nature - Caught in the Sun
Reading/Watching: stole Brian's Dragonlance trilogy, mwa-ha-ha

For the first five minutes after you do something phenomenally stupid, you're usually in a state of incredulous shock, thinking, "That did not just happen."

I wasted a moment or two waiting to snap out of it, to wake up and still be driving for home, looking for a gas station.

Instead, I was still there, on the side of the Eastbound access road, axle-deep in mud. Alone, mired, with my gas light still blinking and my wheels spinning like a groan in the grass that had looked perfectly firm when I attempted to complete my donut-turn onto the shoulder. It was cold, it was dark, I was half a mile from any lights.

Yay.

And the little bastard who'd honked at me as I was U-turning, trying to hurry me up, whizzed on past without offering to help. It was his fault I'd not taken the time to reverse into a 3-point turn so I could stay on the road, the jerk.

So I got out and started walking toward the nearest gas station, hands clenched around my purse, trying to somehow keep an eye on every single dark corner of my vision, which was pretty much everywhere, since I was in a muddy ditch at 8:30 p.m. just outside of TeensyTown, Texas.

The truck stop seemed a long way away. I shivered and prayed under my breath as I walked: "Hail Mary"s at warp speed (even for a lifelong Catholic who can say the entire Nicean Creed in 45 seconds flat). The odds were against a madman hiding in the ditch at that exact location off the interstate, but I wasn't taking any chances.

About a mile later, just before walking into the truck stop, I saw my reflection in the window-glass and realized just how terrified I looked. So I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and walked in, asking softly and evenly where I could call a tow truck.

The cashier heard my plight, and said two people worked there that could help. Some blond guy in a tan baseball cap asked if I had any chains, and I was tempted to say "Yes, I keep them in the trunk of my little Nissan to ward off potential muggers and unwanted admirers," but I decided bitchiness was not the best policy. The two employees came over, Bubba and Jeb (not really, but I can't remember their names and it's close enough), and led me to their big scary truck out back.

It's amazing, how much handsomer a man can seem when he's coming to your rescue. They might have had no more than six teeth combined, but they looked better than Tom Welling at that moment.

So Bubba and Jeb drove me back to Luna, who was slanting forlornly in the ditch. They pulled her out, and followed me back to the gas station to make sure everything was all right. I filled up my tank, and tried not to think how bad it was that there was mud up to my right side view mirror (I must have dug myself deeper when I spun my wheels trying to get out). On the drive home, something rattled ominously, so I was afraid to take the car past fifty. Even at that speed, it thrummed like a tractor.

Of course, my evening hadn't reached its true low point until I walked in the door and explained what had happened, and got to hear the fun Dad lecture.

It's times like these, I wonder what kind of apoplexy he'd have if I ever did something really wrong. Like shoot heroin or forget to floss.

After dinner, my mom walked over and hugged me. I am very proud that I didn't tear up until that moment, when I could hide it in her shoulder. There are times I still feel six years old.

It's a shame, because before that, the day had been pretty good. Great, even. Verging on fantastic. But then this.

Tomorrow I take the car in to be looked at. ::wince::

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