On the way to work this morning I was delayed by a “SIG Alert” on the 101. I don’t know what a “SIG Alert” is exactly, but I know that there was an accident. A multiple-car accident that blocked three lanes of traffic and made me almost an hour late to the office. There were injuries, but I don’t know details. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to hear that someone was killed.
On NPR there was a story about a water-shortage in some third-world country – I don’t even remember which one – and how people are starving to death there. I read today (on line) about some teenagers killed in Ireland, and another shark attack. Several Iraqi soldiers were killed when the chemical weapons they were developing exploded.
There is a homeless man that plays his harmonica for change on the corner of my exit. I pass him almost every morning while I’m talking on my cell phone and driving my shiny red pick-’em-up truck.
Three hundred sixty-five days ago today I left Tampa, Florida and began the drive that would take me to Los Angeles, California.
So much has happened in that time, and so much hasn’t happened, that I am amazed that I ever look at my life and worry about what it is.
It is a life.
And it is pretty good.
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