Jen and I were out in the country somewhere. She had either bought a new car or was renting one. I was coerced into driving somewhere by myself. On the return trip, there was a bridge of some sort to be crossed. Traveling at a good clip, in the right lane, I drove onto it. Immediately, an exit appeared. I quickly changed to the lane to my left, having to cross the solid lines dividing the exit from the highway. Immediately another exit appeared. Frantically, I unsuccessfully attempted to change lanes again. At typical highway speeds, I barreled down (literally, the exit was situated at an incline from the bridge, which was still ascending) the exit for perhaps 100 meters. At this point, the road climbed sharply for several meters and then ceased. Somehow I managed to get out of the car unharmed, but it went over the edge and into the river below.
After inexplicably returning home, I had to explain how I had lost not only the car, but a backpack and a book which it contained. Each of these losses seemed more significant than the last.