Someone Is Trying To Kill Me

Last night, while running back to my apartment to get some fabric softener sheets, a woman tried to kill me with her minivan. We had words. I was so shaken up after our confrontation and ALMOST DYING, that I just didn't have it in me to muster up the energy for what would have been my Biggest Hex Yet. Instead, I comforted myself in the knowledge that she is a RAVING LUNATIC and will have to go through the rest of her life with that cloud of idiocy darkening every step she takes. I'm pretty sure I will never forget her license plate number.

After the second glass of red wine which I determined would be the best cure for my lingering bad feelings and anxiety, what was once an amorphous thought in the back of my head suddenly had all the sharp, right angles of a full-on realization: Someone or something is TRYING TO KILL ME.

To wit -

When I was younger, around 9 or 10, I was on my way to a friend's house to play. I was riding my pink Huffy, wearing pink pants and a pink shirt. I remember turning right out of the cul-de-sac where I lived, I remember the sun being in my eyes, and remember actually being on Congress Drive, which was the street that wound around my housing development.

The very next thing I remember, I was laying on my back, my head was smushed up against the curb, my bike was on top of me, and my neighbor's grandmother was trying to wake me up. She walked me home (which was only about 50 feet away), and up to my door. When I walked in the house, she explained what happened to my mom, since I was not able to immediately say anything. I was all types of confused, but I still had the presence of mind to feel the bump growing on the back of my head and think, "Fred Flintstone bump."

They took me to the hospital, I had some x-rays, I was told I had a concussion and I got a day off from school as a result. I still to this day have no idea what happened to me. My bike wasn't damaged, so I couldn't have been hit by a car, but there really is no other explanation. Other than alien abduction, of course.

A few years later, Gina (yes, the one who JUST GOT ENGAGED! HOLY SHIT! YAY!!!) and I decided that we needed to make a pre-dinner bike ride to CVS, which was about a mile and a half away from my house. I really needed some Pantene. I had a perm at the time and let me tell you - for processed curls, Pantene is the SHIT.

We managed to make it up to the shopping center unharmed. Gina made her turn first and I decided to follow directly behind her. Without, like, looking both ways and shit. So, when I finally DID look to my left, I was in the middle of the road and a car was basically almost on top of me. I took evasive maneuvers and swerved onto the shoulder to my right, JUST AS THE CAR DID THE SAME THING. The sound of brakes squealing is always annoying, but when you know their squealing to avoid YOU, well, they're downright terrifying!

The car hit the back of my bike (bending my PINK rear tire in half forever), and I was launched over the handlebars, rolled a few feet, and then finally came to a stop. I jumped up embarrassed. Gina was across the street thinking I was dead. And then I just started laughing my ass off. People came running, the police showed up, an ambulance arrived... I walked away from that with a few scratches on my palms and a busted bike, which I never rode again.

I'm sure the 4 years I spent as a student in Boston found me shins-to-bumper a few times since I was a full-time pedestrian. Putting on those roller blades was probably not the best idea, especially since NOBODY TAUGHT ME HOW TO STOP (DAHER! MUPPET!), and I was forced to launch myself at inanimate objects when I felt that my inertia was somewhat beyond my ability to handle without serious injury.

Of course, booting on someone else's boots, getting really high, and then running around in snow and ice also wasn't one of my better decisions, but I didn't realize that until I was laying flat on my back at the bottom of the subway stairs.

In some ways, you could say these mishaps are the result of just being a plain, old klutz, but I don't see it that way. Individual choices are influenced by internal AND external factors. Sometimes I make choices that put me in harm's way, it's true. But perhaps there is an external force subtly manipulating my decisions. Because seriously, I made the choice to step off the sidewalk after determining that the minivan would not be turning left, otherwise its blinker would be flashing. How was I to know that once I did, it would GUN for me like a scene out of Christine?

See?

Someone is trying to kill me.