TV is the cure-all.

Well, I'm home.

I was going to write about how awesome it is to travel by myself because I can step off the bus at a McDonald's and order a Happy Meal just for the hell of it.

...But then on the way into St. Paul, I watched a hit and run on the interstate. A sedan in the next lane over got rear-ended and crashed into the median. The cop car that hit it didn't even slow down. A woman on my bus called 911, and the operator didn't seem to believe her when she said a cop car was responsible. Half the people on the bus saw it - the lights and siren were going, and traffic was trying to pull over for it (the sedan included, but not fast enough evidently).

Oh, hey, faith in humanity, how're you today? You look a little thin. Have you eaten today? I'd give you my Happy Meal, but I already ate it.

As soon as I got home, Kiah started cheering me up with my usual insta-cure. We took a trip to Super America for energy drinks and candy, followed by a marathon of all the shows I missed while I was away: House, Battlestar Gallactica, Supernatural, and now Lost. I'm loving Desmond's mismatched shades/cap/scarf combo.

Me: "Desmond, you look doofy."
Kiah: "He's in his rock star/professional baseball player/gay scarf designer disguise. So Whitmore can't find him!"

These are the things I care about after two servings of mango-orange energy drink and a Wonka Bar.