Carma
It's not often that I reflect on something I write here, and for two good reasons. First, nobody reads the damn thing, so I am hardly tempting fate by writing on it. Second, I barely (if ever) write about anything of consequence. The various tales I pen here of being farted upon by my fellow man will never qualify as news flashes or groundbreaking literature.
So it was something of a surprise when I found myself musing about the post preceding this one, about how everyone drives too slow and should get the hell out of my way. The matter was brought home to me a few days ago by a California state employee, who happened to be engaged in writing me a speeding ticket.
For the record, I'm not upset about the ticket.
More precisely, I am not upset at the fact that I got a ticket.
When it comes time to actually pay the fine and go to traffic school (if I'm allowed to... yeah, I was going pretty fast), I will probably be singing a different tune, likely the kind that would make N.W.A. proud. I am reasonable enough, though, to recognize that I did break the law, and I'm more than willing to pay the fine. Anyway, I passed about three other CHP cars before I got home, so I would have been ticketed eventually.
One thing I'm sure of, my cruise control is going to be locked at 65 for a while.
Poop.