Side Trip to Cape Fear

I'm weeping on a toilet seat at a rest stop outside of Lafayetteville, North Carolina.
The last time I sobbed in a multistall bathroom was about 15 years ago. I had spent three hours editing 20 years pages of mind-numbing crafts and recipe instructions for Family Circle magazine, painstakingly building fractions, cutting widows and realigning diagrams. With my last keystroke, I pushed myself away from my desk in triumph...and kicked out the power plug. Lost everything.
I forgot to hit "SAVE."
Today I have pulled over on our 1,200-mile journey from PA to FLA because M is angry with the GPS. He is trying to find Cape Fear, after I suggested we stop there for dinner. The irony amused me: why not face your fears in Cape Fear? M is trying to please me while he wrestles with the Gamin, re-enacting his lifelong adversorial relationship with mechanical objects. His frustration, which includes swearing, is summoning up my inner DeNiro. I hear Bobby D's mockable Southern accent "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

I pull over at the rest stop, pass 12 vending machines that contain nothing I want or need, dive into the first stall and burst into tears.
When I come back out to the car, I say, "So if I die, how are you going to find your way around? Will you be lost forever? Chill OUT." I take over the GPS. Cape Fear is too far away. It will take us out of our way. Stay on track for Savannah.
Hit "SAVE."