I never look at my odometer, but today it caught my eye as I oozed into my car at the end of a tiring and emotional day. Not the odometer, actually, but the “tripometer”, which I never use or reset. It read “666.0”.
Now, I’m not a religious person but my great-grandmother Eubanks was, and she made sure us young’uns knew the significance of that number. Ill omen. Bad sign. Mark of the Beast. Signal of the End Times.
Odd that my car would give me such a warning today on this of all days — 9/11 — which itself holds significance as the day the universe changed as well as a coded plea for urgent assistance.
It’s been a hard day for me, on many levels. I’m exhausted and not feeling my best. The light of my life is “travelling” somewhere in the Middle East, away from his normal base of operations and a reliable Internet connection. And the media insists on reminding us that we’re on our way to Hell in a handbasket, at top speed, with the driver blindly talking on his cell phone, playing with his Gameboy, and chugging a six-pack while us passengers are screaming for our lives in the backseat.