Write Quickly and Avoid the Truck!

 

The "OG" mascots in bobble head form: Rookie and Renee

11:39 p.m.

Twenty-one minutes left on Thursday.

"Why bother," I ask myself as I'm nearly sandwiched between two tractor-trailers on I-95 at Exit 2. The one on my driver side -- that likely would have done significant damage -- came over from the center line to get onto the exit ramp.

Where I was.

Just trying to get out of more horrific construction at 11 p.m., courtesy of the state of Connecticut.

The construction must get done and I must attempt to try to live to see another day.

Amazingly, the truck that cut me off somehow did not hit me.

So, yeah, "why bother?"

I won't ask who is reading this because a collection of delightful souls will tell me they will. But it's a kick in the backside at the end of a very long day.

There was a baseball game tonight in Wappingers Falls and, as much as I'd like to tell you it's just watching baseball, I can't.

There is a script to follow (that constantly adjusts on the fly) and tension to cut through with a knife and micromanaging and hovering and...

It's baseball and it is supposed to be fun.

And Sean almost got hit with a baseball while working his camera. He didn't but it allowed me to give "Junior" (his nickname at the stadium) a shout-out.

In the end, it was humorous.

Overall, we laugh a lot but there are also heavy doses of snark and sarcasm.

Besides, most of these people are my friends. If I was starting a video broadcasting service, I'd certainly be reaching out to them.

But, for tonight, I'm simply trying to get a collection of words on the page and go to bed.

Yet, before that, I had to hit the grocery store. 

Wegmans on a Thursday night before 11 p.m. is delightful. I roared through like a house on fire while their staff was restocking shelves.

Cat food. Kitty litter. Milk. Seltzer. Shampoo.

I got most of everything on my list.

Initially, I was going to hit the Walmart in Fishkill before the baseball game but that didn't quite pan out.  we grabbed sandwiches and I elected to get to the stadium with time to spare before the pregame meeting.

Since the Renegades are currently playing some of the longest games in minor league baseball, I decided to come back to lower Westchester before going to a store. Part of me said to just go home, taking the back roads and avoiding Interstate 95.

That would have been prudent.

Instead, I did my quick grocery shopping and tried to get home to write.

Then I saw my life flash before my eyes on the shoulder near Exit 2.

I'm fine.

The car is fine.

We do, indeed, live to see another day.

Which is coming up in nine minutes as I type so I better end and hit "Publish."