""Woe, for I am the bug that meets the windshield's might, No longer the speeding glass, smooth, clean and bright . . ." You're right. I, Rosie Montague of Verona, am lousy at iambic pentameter and Shakespeare speak, but you get the point: Sometimes you're the windshield and sometimes you're the bug. I, who for my whole life, have cruised along, unruffled by life's trials, am suddenly smashed flat and speeding recklessly up the WhattheHellHappened...