Crabby this morning from repeated awakenings - and then poor Jack, for the one time ever, is in the shower at the time of my morning routine. I stomp around the house and display a lack of morning sympathy. My cheerios are shoveled down hastily in my impatience with chirpy weather people on TV. I beg Jack not to drive to work on no sleep. I get on the road, only to find I've been trapped behind the corpse truck on the 2-lane stretch of 198. The corpse truck - every morning I see it at the 7-11, with huge coffins and the big winch for lowering them into the ground. Today it is on the road before me, and I think to blame Jack for my situation - until I realize that there is a speed trap there on 198, the state cop hiding in a playground. Ah, perhaps Jack has saved me from something worse after all. I have a ridiculous urge to wave to the cop in a friendly manner, but do not indulge it. The rest of the drive is spent fiddling with my wrist brace and watching the trails of steam that issue forth from the depths of my lungs as I sing along with Eddie Money.
Take me home tonight / I'm not gonna let you go til you see the light / Take me home tonight / listen honey just like Ronnie sang Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Ohhh!
I reflect once again on how this is a creepy stalker song. Crownsville road is losing most of its lustre, only the last few school-bus-yellow leaves cling in desperation. I coast into work and find a good parking space. My knees are cold under my skirt and my new cowboy boots grab their first gravel. I greet the tall, gruff Harley-Davidson-branded receptionist. Hump day begins.