THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, March 31, 1996 TAG: 9603280156
SECTION: CAROLINA COAST PAGE: 07 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Opinion
SOURCE: BY MARY ELLEN RIDDLE
LENGTH: Medium: 62 lines
I am a speeder. I have been speeding my whole life. Since I was 16, the car has been my substance of choice.
And while it is difficult for me to write without humor, I am not cavalier about my problem.
I read the newspapers; I know what happens when someone speeds. When I learn of needless speed-inflicted tragedies, my heart bleeds. I do not speed maliciously. I do not speed for pleasure.
I am probably the worst speeder of all kinds because I am a daydreamer. I am not sure if this is the curse of all artists and writers, or if it is in direct response to the magnificent cloud action overhead.
When I relayed my habit of cloud gazing to a friend, she gasped. And it wasn't because she, too, had seen them, but because I had been driving under the influence of cumulo nimbus.
Please do not be shocked - it's not that I drive with my head ``literally'' in the clouds. It's just that I do my best thinking while traveling down the road.
Stories form, books are written and illustrated in my head, and philosophy is pondered. Problems are solved, and I confess to cursing a bit. Sometimes I even play a mime game and try to imitate the expressions on passing faces. I am also a fairly good solitary alphabet-game player.
I saw my first shooting star while behind the wheel. And while driving I decided that the world fits into two catagories: humor and poetry.
Once, while traveling down the blacktop, I realized that I will be perfect only once in my life: when I am perfectly dead.
I love to sing in the car and have finally gotten over my fear of being seen alone with my lips wagging.
An idea cropped up in my head one day as I passed a patrol car hidden around a bend in the road: Maybe if the road signs were more menacing, I might pay better attention. Perhaps we could replace the MPH signs with COP AHEAD or SPEED KILLS.
Maybe threats would motivate me, with signs like GO TO JAIL. Or for the philosophically motivated, WHAT'S THE RUSH? WE'RE ALL GOING TO THE SAME PLACE.
A friend thought it might be useful if the speed limit signs buzzed when you passed them at points where the limit changes abruptly. Probably the best advice came from another friend, who suggested I take into account the age of my car. After all, my treatment of my old vehicle was akin to racing a grandmother down the road sans wheels.
This struck a sympathetic chord with me. It takes a strong tonic to harness my thoughts.
Since my confession, I've all but stopped speeding. I just heard of someone who was cured through hypnosis. Just to be on the safe side, I am going to buy a car with cruise control. After all, creative thinking never got anyone out of the morgue.
And I don't want to create any saints today, or be perfect just yet. MEMO: Mary Ellen Riddle is the arts columnist for The Carolina Coast. She
lives in Manteo. by CNB