Entry 1: I am high. It is 2:04 in the morning. The temperature is eighty-one degrees Fahrenheit. Clouds roll past, having released their wrath for no more than ten minutes. The roads are covered in nasty slick, a result of the too-short shower. My car is light, one harsh twitch of the finger and I am careening to my death in the middle of Houston traffic. There is no traffic. A few cars. One too many for a Tuesday night at 2:06 in the morning. Where are they going? Where am I going? I have passed my exit. It feels so good. I could keep going. As the Energizer Bunny goes: keeps going, and going, and going… I should stop. That is the responsible thing. Stop, turn around, go home. The gas pedal is taunting me, tickling my toes. How poetically stupid does that sound? I am rambling. It feels good to ramble. You can’t ramble in public. People get annoyed, they get tired. Suddenly, their phone rings but you don’t hear any ring tone. Oh my goodness, their friend is in trouble and they have to go help them/sit with them/change their tire/feed their dogs. Has that happened to you? It happened to me once. I knew it was happening. When she said she had to go, I came back with, “Oh thank god. I told my dad I was going to be late getting him his insulin because you wanted to sit and talk! Oh, that was two hours ago! Oh, crap! Please don’t die Dad!” and I ran out of the coffee shop.