Light blogging today and probably tomorrow, for this reason:

I don’t like Mondays, for the same reason as everybody else.  Today was to be an unusually busy one.  I had reams of documents to review at work, and rehearsal for "Noises Off" in the evening.  I also needed to find time to review my lines for rehearsal.  And last night, while scoping out the burned out house of a client, I noticed that my brakes on my Ford Explorer were going a bit soft, and I wanted to call the car guys and schedule an appointment.

But none of this was on my mind as I left for work (earlier than usual) this morning.  I was thinking about Emily’s email.  She had sent a group email to friends of hers (against her better judgment, I am apparently one of them) outlining her wishes should she ever find herself in a persistent vegetative state, and I had just happened to read it as I was leaving for work.  My mind was trying to come up with a smart-alecky wise-ass remark I could make to her the next time I saw her because . . . well, because that’s what I do.  But nothing was coming to mind, probably because the idea of Emily in a persistent vegetative state was rather disconcerting.

But not as disconcerting as what happened next.

As I backed up out of my garage, I put on the brakes, so I could turn and drive on out of my driveway.  But the brakes failed.  You know that awful feeling when you hit a patch of ice and momentarily lose all control of your car?  It was that feeling.  Fortunately, I was only going about 5 miles per hour in my driveway.  Unfortunately, that was enough to propel me into a fence, which (fortunately) caused the car to stop before I (and my Ford Explorer) took a plunge into the pool.

With the motor still running, I stepped out to inspect the damage to the fence (bad, but easily fixable — another thing on my ever-growing "to-do" list).  Then, in my infinite wisdom, I thought I should do the "smart thing": instead of going to work, I should drive directly to the car dealership and have them check out my brakes.  I figured that my brakes would work okay enough, and with the emergency brake, and driving slowly, and taking back roads, I would be able to get there in one piece.

Except I forgot about the hill.

Fifteen minutes and twenty pounds of nervous sweat later, I abandoned my dumb idea, as well as my car, in a vacant parking lot about a mile from the house.  I called a towing service to take my car the rest of the way to the dealership (thank you, Cyndy). 

I don’t think I put anyone’s life in danger, except of course my own.  Still, it was dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb.  It was morning commute, and there could have been kids going to school — even on the back roads.

The end of the story is that I am getting a brand new Ford Escape Hybrid tomorrow.  Red metallic.  And a hybrid.  Pretty cool.  I’m looking forward to doubling my gas mileage (or, alternatively, paying half as much for gas), and — oh, yeah — doing my bit for Mother Earth as well.

Still, it was dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb.

It probably wasn’t until late this evening when driving home from rehearsal when the adrenanline rush stopped.  It’s amazing what the song "Midnight on the Oasis" can do to me sometimes.  Thanks, Maria.

My born-again friend Melinda said that I was "blessed".  That conjured up an image of Jesus giving the Sermon on the Mount (or Sermon on the Plain, depending on whether you believe the Book of Matthew or the Book of Paul), saying "Blessed are the stupid drivers who think they can operate a vehicle with no brakes, for they shall purchase an environmentally sound SUV."  But then again, they say that God holds a special place for those who are mentally incompetent.  That may very well be true — He certainly seemed to today.