3:32am on the Turner Turnpike

So here I am, writing by the light of the eclipsing moon and the backlight of my cell phone. The steel frame of my little Ford hardly seems protection enough from the diesel-guzzling monsters whizzing by at 80+ mph. And maybe I've spent too much time in Joss Wheedon's imagination this week, but from the looks of the woods to my right, I believe it to be a perfectly reasonable assumption that a werewolf will come tearing through the trees at any moment (I mean, it IS a full moon).

I'm an adult...a 27 year-old adult who should be perfectly capable of dealing with a little car trouble and waiting patiently for the tow truck without totally loosing it (nevermind that it's 3:32am in the no man's land of the Turner Turnpike somewhere between Wellston & Oklahoma City). Although for that matter, I'm also an adult who should be responsible enough - or at the very least not stupid enough - to take off on a mini roadtrip, knowing that I will be returning in the wee hours of the morning, without getting the little light-shaped-like-a-battery, that keeps flickering on the dashboard, checked out.

So I guess it's safe to say that it's my own fault that I now sit whimpering in my car as it shudders with the roar of each passing semi, while obsessively checking for any change in the shadows of the trees and trying to determine if the hungry sounding howls that I'm sure I hear are directed at the moon or at me.