So we’ve had some interesting weather here the past few days. Sunny and 65° on Monday. Snow on Tuesday. Yesterday, I half expected to see locusts falling from the sky before noon.

I just got back from a week-long seminar for work, and…well, that’s about all there is to say about that. That is, unless, you are fascinated by the intricacies of optimizing air compressors. If you are, then I pity you.

Let’s see, what else? I didn’t go out last night for St. Patrick’s Day. Yeah, I suck.

Alright, I’m sorry. I got nothing else.

I’ll try harder tomorrow.

Oh wait! There is one little thing. I think I’m in some trouble with the law.

Friday, while being bored to tears in that seminar, I realized that I needed to be in court in Baltimore for a speeding ticket I got in December. So I figure the worst that can happen is they find me guilty and I pay the fine, right?

Then I remember a little thing called a Bench Warrant. By now, I’m freaking out thinking that the cops are now going to hunt my ass down.

“But for $140?” you ask.

Hey, it’s not like I have a frame of reference. For all I know, some vindictive judge has just revoked my freedom and has authorized law enforcement officials (or better yet, bounty hunters) to hunt me down like a dog, and drag me off to jail.

So I sent in a check for the $140 fine, praying that the cops haven’t caught onto my scent. See, if they arrest me, then I can always say that on the notice I received, it clearly said that I could pay the fine and avoid appearing in court. It just never said when the fine was due, and this is just some mix-up.

However, it has been my experience that police officers aren’t too keen on semantics.

Since I’ve returned home, I’ve been looking over my shoulder, in my rear mirror, around corners, praying that there’s not a S.W.A.T team lying in wait.

I’ve also been singing “Folsom Prison Blues” a lot which is not a good sign.

But I haven’t received any official notice from the District Court of Maryland. I haven’t seen any police cars tailing me on my way to work. And the court hasn’t cashed my check, so I’m still a bit on edge, here folks.

When I was just a baby,
My momma told me, “Son,
Always be a good boy,
Don’t ever play with guns.”
Well, I shot a man in Reno
Just to watch him die.
When I hear that whistle blowin’,
I hang my head and cry.

READ THESE JOURNALS Uncle Bob SaraH

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