I think my dad put it best at dinner last night.

"I don't even want to hear the word 'Yankees.'" I think he was serious. But of course, that led to a discussion of what went so drastically wrong in the division series against the Tigers this week. And, of course, a discussion about who is going and who is coming next season.

The 2006 season is officially over for me. I'll not wear a Yankees cap until the World Series champion has been crowned. I may even change the ringtone on my cell so that I don't have to wince at John Sterling's "Ball game over. Yankees win...

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As I pulled out of my driveway yesterday morning, the strangest feeling hit me. I knew, almost without question, that I would not live to see the end of the day.

I was wrong.

But that fear stayed with me throughout the day. I kept wondering if I was going to crash my car again, or if someone was going to run me down in front of the gas station. I kept wondering if I was going to choke on my lunch or my gum.

I've been almost obsessed with dying for the past couple of weeks -- ever since I read "The Perfect Storm." The fear started growing from there, until I can't seem to drive faster than 60 and I chew my food extra long. I realized this morning that none of that worrying was worthwhile...

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