Standing on the brakes was hopeless. The truck slowed like fading wind, like trickling water, like an ice cream melting, but wasn't going to stop. I jammed on that spongy pedal under my feet and just bounced around. I strained and heaved and kept sliding foot by foot. Rolling by were front yards, mailboxes, stone walls. Out my window passed ponds and street signs and trees stained with autumn. I was going to hit.

I woke from that dream really concerned. Whenever the anxiety is making rude coughing noises in the corner of my mind, waiting for me to turn and say, oh, I didn't see you there, the Oh Shit dreams start.

I have never arrived at school without pants, but I have often in dreams realized hours too late that I forgot to go to work. The feeling is wedged in my memory -- a nail in the tree that I grew around and swallowed.

My mind mocks me all the time. It says, ha ha, here is a memory we know you'll hate: There I am again standing in front of my fourth grade class as all those rotten kids stare back. Miss Jacobs sits in the background with neon blue eyeshadow and a red pen. I confess. I forgot it. I forgot my book report.

I stare at the pukey green tiles until I hear her voice: Kendra, for you to forget your homework is prehistoric. The last time it happened was a really long time ago…

I doubt either of us remembered a single account of Oh God, No Homework, but that day is still with me. I have grown into someone who hates to be late, unprepared, or without at least three extra sets of everything, but sadly I am always late, without a pen that works, and running around with a near-empty gas tank. But, my brakes work.

Dogs don't suffer this crap. They can either eat it, or not, chew on it, or not, or sleep. Is there really anything else to worry about? Lily spent a few minutes jumping on me after Bandit and Hershey finally got annoyed with her. She leaves Ozzy alone except to sniff, so I was her next choice. Thanks girly.