speeding bullet.

Last night I had a nightmare.

I was driving in my car, with a barrage of police cars behind me -- lights flaring, sirens shrieking. Nervously I checked my rear view mirror. From the sky, you could see my little white car speeding ahead of at least a dozen police cars. Helicopters from the police department and news stations circled overhead, zooming in on my car and making speculations about my sanity.

Quick! I thought, turn around!

Grasping my steering wheel, my knuckles turned white. My teeth were clenched. My eyes squinting. With one swift movement I turned the wheel to the left, cutting my car across the grass median, leaving tire marks on the road. My tires squealed as I passed through onto the pavement on the other side of the road. Behind me, the grass median was torn from my quick maneuver.

I checked my mirrors. I had lost them. Yes, in my dream changing directions on a wide open interstate is enough to shake even the most diligent of police officers.

I decided to pull over and get off the road -- otherwise they might find me.

I found my way to a truck stop. Sketchy beyond belief. Men in red flannel shirts sat at electronic gambling machines while their trucks idled outside. I think I'll drive home, I thought. Surely the police won't look for me there...

When I left the truck stop, my car was gone -- along with my wallet, purse and cell phone. I was utterly stranded. I was a fugitive. I started to cry. And then I woke up.

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This all stems off a speeding ticket that I got in REAL life this past Friday. 80 and in a 65. Ouchies.