My last trip down the LBJ Freeway in Dallas became a religious experience; I was praying most of the way.  And that was at night.   It's second only to the loop in Houston I got stuck on once.  For an hour I was convinced I'd grow old and die traveling in an endless circle of hell on wheels.

Now, is it just me, or has traffic in Wichita Falls become just a bit crazier?  I don't mean the volume of traffic so much as the attitude of the drivers.  Do we want to be Fort Worth so badly that we now mimic their behind-the-wheel attitudes, too?  Several times over the last few weeks I've dodged a bullet, so to speak, on the Lloyd Ruby Overpass.  Just the other day a guy in what appeared to be a fresh off the lot Camaro (the new ones are sweet, by the way) decided to play tag on the overhead.  I didn't know you could get that close to the back end of a semi without giving the driver an engagement ring first.

And being the Christmas season, everyone is acting just a little nuts.  Parking at Wal-Mart is only slightly less dangerous right now than crossing the Grand Canyon on a high wire.  And now, we have the possibility (although a slim one as of the writing of this masterpiece) of snow on Christmas Day.  Oh joy.  All I can think about is the disaster of a blizzard on Christmas Eve 2009.  What was originally forecast to be only slightly more than the usual for us in terms of winter weather turned out to be a scene from the planet Hoth in "The Empire Strikes Back".  People in Wichita Falls have no clue how to drive on ice.  Never mind that we do get at least two opportunities a year to practice.  We just don't seem to learn.  And before you start in on me about starting in on Wichita Falls drivers, I'm from here.  I can say that and feel well qualified about it.

So, I suppose this weekend the traffic will be worse.  Everyone will now not only be shopping for last minute Christmas gifts, but also bread, water, batteries, generators, heating blankets and eggs, anticipating the coming of the blizzard apocalypse.   And the whole end of the Mayan calender nonsense won't help either.  I think I'll just stay home and draw up plans for my next snowman.  But first, a few stops to make.

Merry Christmas, Texoma.