Everything we're passing by in the car or in the car is making me fantasize. The eighteen-wheeler ahead of us suddenly has it's doors jerk open and drops a load of fatal objects through the windshield into my shaking and awaiting heart, or the windshield scraper is the perfect size and shape to deal me an appropriate level of suffering.
I know I'll get over it. I have to give presents after all and look presentable to family and friends.
I also know I am not the only one to want to deal myself a deserving level of suffering, or at least one worthy of such crimes as I've committed. It's just a matter of time until I realize I have too much to do to go through with this right now.

I am lucky I wrote it down to remind myself. How arrogant, though!