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My Jeep is dying.

It seems to be in league with my mother, and in league with, (how I hate to admit this) me.

I don't like it here anymore. I've only been working for a month and the luster and shine are already gone. I'm making money--not great money--but enough to survive and enough to buy the things that other people would expect to make me happy.

But the more I think about it, the more I'm ready to go. To be gone. To travel, to quest, to adventure.

My future stretches before me and I do not want it to be this comic. I want it to be something that I can look back on 40 years from now and be proud to know is mine.

To all of the ones I have loved, I am going away--not tomorrow, but soon. Will you miss me when I'm gone?

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In a more localized event, today I taught my mother how to use a combination of screencapture and MSpaint to steal text from a Flash website and reprint it for her students to use in class. The website was a collection of quizzes on what defines plagiarism.

I wonder, am I going to hell for this?