I'm in my car, which is going about 70mph. It's 2:05 A.M. and we're near Emporia, VA. It's very foggy and the highbeams are having trouble cutting through. I'm excited because I will be able to see Lindsey's grandmother in the morning. She is lovingly referred to by her family as Gammy. I always look forward to seeing her because she has Tootsie Pops and criss-cross huts.

There is no one else on the road. Everything is black and without us the night would remain a bleak, wet void. But nope, we are piercing through, making our way to loved ones. We are going to fish, eat, and laugh about stupid things that only we remember or care about.

As I look above this slender Dell flatscreen at the white slashes perforating the road, I'm reminded of late night journeys between my house and Virginia. I remember shockingly cold nights in Lynchburg—standing outside of a dormroom at midnight, watching my smoky breath as I wait for Lindsey to come out and kiss me goodbye.

I'm also reminded of a trip we took to Lindsey's parent's in Yorktown. It was a few days after Christmas of 2004. We had met snow by this point. With our musical resources exhausted, we decided to memorize Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire." An hour of that song nearly drove me nuts, but now I know every word. Guess which is my favorite line?

Tomorrow I'm going fishing with my new mother-in-law. Not that I have an old one. Anyway, we're going fishing on the Yorktown Pier where she caught an 18-inch manta ray this past week. After twenty-four years of brim, bass, and catfish, it would be nice to catch such a foreign creature.

We are at an Exxon now. "Surf City" by the Beach Boys is playing over the sound system. It's still a strange thing for me to visit such a modernized gas station. The one I normally use just recently updated to computerized pumps. Part of me feels left out because I seem to be just now catching up with the world. I haven't had a check card until a few months ago. It's great to be able to simply stick that sucker in and go. The Beatles are now singing. This is a great gas station.

This laptop is like a shining beacon in the night here. Three bugs are exploring the screen.

Technology is wonderful. It's 2:43 A.M. I'm in a car going 75mph, typing up my thoughts, and listening to "Fat Bottomed Girls" by Queen. Since I was little I've hated reading in the car—a headache has never failed to accompany car reading. I feel like vomiting, but I can't stop.

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