"I and my decapitated popsicle will now retire upstairs, THANK YOU VERY MUCH"

So I have discovered that it's very hard to drive home when you're crying for the last 45 minutes of the hour-long trip.

And now, I'll make you wonder, and start at the beginning.

Let's see... My Day, by Basiorana. After a quick trip to the gym and a shower, I headed over to the school to meet with my old guidance counselor, who was thrilled to see me, showed me the image of me she stitched into her quilt (the little tiny pencil in my hair was priceless), then gave me information to pass along to Shrewd and the Brother about jobs while offering nothing for me.

Figures.

Anyway, I proceeded to drive up to Dover for my therapy appointment, and after that, headed over to Ryter's. I was driving along a long, straight stretch of road at about 50, 55 mph in a 35 mph zone and I passed a cop. Thinking, Aww, damn..., I slowed and kept going, watching as he did a U-turn and followed me to the highway on-ramp, whereupon he turned on his lights and I immediately pulled over.

I got a warning. I mean, he put me into the system and nothing came up, I'm sure, so I got a verbal admonishment and was sent on my way. I've been driving kind of slow since then; I was always kind of proud of the fact that I'd never been stopped by a cop for anything and that's no longer the case, which I find mildly depressing, but I didn't get a ticket or even a written warning so that's good, at least. Ryter mentioned that he'd noticed the Durham police are able to devote much more time to catching speeders once school gets out, so I'll be especially careful this summer.

I met up with Ryter, anyway, and we went to go get stuff for his new lizard tank. He's getting a bearded dragon, got it approved by his landlady and everything. He's really excited, it's cute. He's going to name it Jesus (Hay-SOOS, not JEE-sus), for Jesus shall be his name (He said it, not me...). We got the tank and all, stashed it in the back of the car securely, and then went to get more climbing wood at another pet store, a few towns over. We had just passed the exit we would have taken to go back to his house when the skies opened up in terrible, torrential rain. Ryter decided we might as well keep going, and I didn't object.

We got to the parking lot, headed in, and a few seconds too late Ryter noticed that the lot was flooded. He realized this because his car was in a very, very deep puddle. Like, caulk the wagons and float across kind of puddle. After a few tries, the car moved and he parked. "On three, we run," he declared, and on three, I sprinted out of the car and over to the covered sidewalk, where a man was waiting to inform me that the front bumper of Ryter's car was currently floating in the waters of the Giant Puddle of Doom.

Much rain, bumper-fetching and bumper-cramming-into-the-back-seat later, the water-swept part was secured in the car, and we went to the pet store. Shoes squishing, I also stopped by Fashion Bug to grab a dry shirt for when we got back to his apartment. And, on the way back, it started to hail, too, so I was suddenly petrified I'd come back to see my car damaged or something. And, tornado watches, flashes of lightning, nonstop thunder... Yeah, not so fun.

Plus we got back to his apartment and the power went out, which displeased him greatly. But we set up both the terrarium and his bookcase, then went out and bought a chess game in a lull to occupy ourselves (he checkmated me in three moves, then in four moves-- I fail, but hey, I voted for Pretty Pretty Princess), but as soon as we got back, the power went back on.

None of this has anything to do with why I started to cry on the way back home, though. I'll go into it more when I'm not so tired, but suffice it to say that I'm very frustrated for my inability to ask for things I want. Need, yes, I'll ask for that. Want, not so much. It's driving me crazy.

Stormin' Yer Brain

We're supposed to write a paper for English on "a significant event in your life, but preferably one which does not have an immediate significance that's obviously apparent and one which you don't even understand the significance of when you start writing." Wait-- if I don't understand the significance of it, how do I know it's significant at all?

But I brainstormed. I can't pick any of the really significant moments in my life because they're too personal, and the significance is too obvious. So here are my ideas:

-My fourth birthday party, which I mostly remember from stories but which I have two vivid images of-- climbing up next to my ailing grandmother in her nursing-home bed to have her help me blow out the candles on my M&M cake, and getting chastised by my mother for playing with the wheelchair.

-When my mother discovered that I thought "that's gay" meant "that's stupid" and she sat me down and explained to me about homosexuality and tolerance

-Getting my mouth washed out with soap for saying "that sucks" when I was eleven

-The daughter of Miss Martha, my daycare lady, telling me about the concept of reincarnation as we cleaned up Cheerios that were spilled on the kitchen floor, then making a sandwich with three slices of bread so it was extra big

-My now-friend, at the time just an annoying kid at daycare who was way too smart for his own good, teaching me to play chess and not explaining all the rules, so he could surprise me with them and he'd win

-Shrewd and the other older kids at Miss Martha's making fun of me, so I cried and they called me a crybaby, and left me behind on the front lawn when they went off and played together

-The first time I wrote a story about a mutant, when I was eight, and how I showed it to my grandmother and she was shocked that I'd even be interest in things like that, since I didn't seem like the type (heh)

-Going to a Catholic mass with a friend in second grade, and then afterward having my mother tell me why she didn't believe in Jesus.

Loquatia votes for the fourth birthday. Opinions?