Update Ala Orpheusd0wn

Have you ever stopped suddenly and without reason to look at the things around you, the clothes you�re wearing, the house you live in, and think, �How in the hell did I get here?�

Things have been moving so fast lately, I feel like I�m not even making the decisions about my life anymore. Someone else has made them for me, and I�m just a character designed to reveal some deeper meaning in the script.

I like it this way. Pretty spooky, but you have to admit, it�s exciting. At least I don�t believe in god, so now I�m free to wonder just who�s making those decisions� Elvis or John Lennon? I don�t know why, but I�m convinced the higher power must have been a rock star. I mean, it obviously takes divine intervention to come up with, �You Ain�t Nothing But A Hound Dog�, don�t you think?

Of course, then there are the identity crisis moments when one of the other characters fills you in on the reality that you are nothing like you thought. My moment came yesterday when Slick stormed out of the office after an actuarial conflict of logic with the Hugger and in his fluster forgot his keys to drive us to lunch. So I drove.

In the span of fifteen minutes I�d heard,

�Why are you yelling at every other driver on the road?�

�Did you mean to cut off that school bus of 8 year olds?�

�That was a nun you just flipped off.�

and the real kick in the pants�

�You drive like a Jersey-driver.�

I drive like a Jersey-driver. My nightmare has come true, and it�s filled with tailgating, honking, and flipping off innocent messengers of god. Oh no, I thought, do I have to be THAT character in the play? Can�t I just do lighting or something, instead?

I guess it doesn�t have to be all bad. Yeah, I may be a Jersey-driver now, but hey, when in Rome, drive like an idiot � that�s what I always say.

Speaking of which, I sarcastically gave a �thumbs up� and stuck my tongue out at this woman who looked exactly like Maude Flanders from the Simpsons on my way to work the other day. Her face contorted to reveal a mixture of shock and befuddlement as she tried to maintain her steady 45 miles per hour in the left lane of a 55 mph road during rush hour traffic. The look was priceless, and makes me think, gee, maybe it�s not so bad to be this character.

During any moment of doubt, now I can bring up the mental picture of her and feel nothing but contentment.