There is no hope for us.

I'm sitting within a few feet of a television. Oprah & Gayle's Big Adventure has gotten to New York. Mum has stopped on the station because they're crossing the George Washington bridge.

Gayle, Oprah's BFF, thinks it amusing to mention that something is messed up with her vision. This happens on national television, and everyone is laughing and no one is getting a ticket and luckily no one has plunged into the river because while that would boost Oprah's ratings way up over the moon, I think New York has eaten enough celebrities this season.

This worries me, this driving while visually impared. It worries me because I have to do it, and if I have to do it, and Gayle King does it just to mess with Oprah's head...who else is doing it?

I do not drive across bridges, or at night, or during times when I cannot form a coherent sentence if I can help it. Of course there are times when my brain sort of slips out on the floor of a packed supermarket, and who wants to pick that up and put it back into my head? Not me, that's how you catch E. Coli of the temporal lobe.

Now, with my particular...issue, all cars, even the burnt-out heap with no tires on its side wrapped around the pole up the corner, appear to be moving. Sometimes I'm able to reason that I'm not seeing what I think I'm seeing and move on. Other times people may hear, "We're going to fucking die," wafting out of the open car window as I'm stopped at a light.

I dearly want to believe I'm the only person out on the road who has this problem, but I doubt it. There are documented cases of people being ticketed for driving with migraines, and while I imagine the NASCAR Imitrex 500 (if that ever really comes into existence I want a check) would be hilarious, setting us loose on the open road may be the most dangerous thing since Toonces got a cellphone as a prize for drinking the most beer.

What I think is even more dangerous is--just like with drinking--not thinking you have a problem seeing things, or not admitting it, or having passengers who won't admit it because they're afraid to die and too comfortable to ride with anyone else. Because if you know it's going to happen, you can at least let your passengers know that they should pipe up if, say, a man is quickly approaching the front of the car with a surprised look on his face.

As for me, don't worry, I am not out on the road today. So far I have always made it home alive. So you say that only proves that I'm insane? You may be right.

Oh, Billy, Billy, Billy, my friend...why do I always invoke you while talking about my driving?

There is no hope for us.