Urine Trouble on I-80
The miles flew behind my messy car and full heart as I drove back from Ames on Sunday night. Being the sappy engaged woman that I am, I swallowed the butterflies in my French press as I drove, daydreaming about the upcoming life that I had just tasted that weekend. Shamelessly, sappily, sentimentally. Full, happy, and utterly nauseating. A foreshadowing alarm of impending doom should be going off in the minds of my faithful readers who know this feeling could only possibly precede something terrifying or miserable or fatal. It did for me, but I muffled the internal siren with my giggles and sang with the radio, my cares about money and my car brakes acting up flew away to probably puke at my love gushing. I kept driving and kept smiling, though I remembered I would need to take Ludwig (my car) into the shop this week because his brakes were grinding. A small obstacle in my life of love and happiness. I sang loudly with the radio. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME AND WHY DON'T I CARE. Well, Lu...