Thinking about those old 'love is' comics and penning my own: love is to worry. Not very sexy or deep of an admission, but it is true nonetheless. It is so hard to maintain composure when car trips evoke morbid imaginings of the jaws of life--hell, even a trip to the store to buy popsicles and I imagine desperate junkies and drunk drivers (officer, he said he would be back in 10 minutes. I had a craving for grape popsicles. I never should have asked him to go out. This used to be such a safe neighbourhood). What's this all about, anyways?
