I find that oftentimes general talks with my Dad or other people tend to end up as some sort of therapy session.  Psychotherapy in general, I feel, is having a person you’re able to talk to and expose your internal going ons so I guess with comics like these the whole world is my therapist.

When I was 15 1/2 I drove to my first Halo Party.  I had recently gotten my learner’s permit and, while I’m not certain on the specific legality of it, hauled myself about 20 miles away to get my game on.  The night was fun and many space warriors were felled when my even greater trial was to begin: getting home.

I dare say I’m a pretty safe driver.  This probably stems from my constant thoughts that everyone else on the road is a possible maniac.  While this leads to me acting safe on the road it also takes my processing power from the actual navigation aspect of driving.  I’m a wonderful driver when going in a straight line but once turning is involved I become exponentially anxious.

Well there I was on the freeway thinking I was heading home when I noticed things looked different than they did on the way up.  The fact that it had been about a half hour longer than I expected it to be I passed off as post battle time perception issues.  When I went under a huge bridge I knew I hadn’t passed I began to panic.

Once I passed a sign that said “don’t bring guns into Mexico” that panic doubled.  It doubled again when I saw “last stop before Mexico.”

I made an incredibly hard turn and got of right there.  I was lucky to have borrowed a cell phone and called my Dad.

“Well, turn around!”

Sage Wisdom.

After some more specific directions I was able to get home around 4am and have survived thus far to write this to you, dearest reader.