Mortality: The word that few drivers recognize

Have been driving a lot lately. More than I have in years, maybe ever. How much more? I already have more miles on the car I bought in April than I did after four years with my last car.

What I've noticed: I come by my dislike of highway driving honestly. If only I didn't have that pesky sense of my own mortality, driving on the highway would be a breeze, but--well, my folks up and died, and now I know for a fact that I, too, carry the mortality gene. And I, too, realize that I could be crushed into a very small, no-longer-breathing package in very short order if in an accident at highway speeds. Particularly with a very large truck.

This, I know. Judging from the way other people drive--whether on dry pavement or slick, icy roads--I am one of the few people burdened with this knowledge.

And, from my observations, a lot of the people who appear to be least aware of their own mortality either a) drive pickup trucks, SUVs, or vans and b) have more than one form of ribbon decal on their vehicles.

Support our troops = Drive with reckless disregard for human life in gas-guzzlers.