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This past week hasn't been my best ever, and I still have this grand jury witness thing in front of me tomorrow, but it was getting better, right? The sun came out, the temperature rose, Christian Kane tweeted that he was happy with the weather (I'm so relieved, Chris, really), and I headed home this evening in a moderately sanguine frame of mind.
I made a miscalculation on my bike and inconvenienced (I do not say endangered!) a motorcyclist, who laid on his horn and shouted at me. I shouted back, probably not my best move, but it doesn't take a lot to pierce the fragile veil of my newly-reinstalled calm. One of the things he shouted was, "I hope you make it home alive."
I did, and there was (perhaps ironically) a disc of Dead Like Me awaiting. I love that show--I find it heartwarming and soothing, despite the title and subject matter, so, fairly useless for anything else, I sat down to mass-consume all four eps.
About halfway into the third one, I hear a screech and a crash-boom VERY near where I'm sitting in my living room, and, before I'm off the couch to look out the window, a whole lot of shouts and cries of "Call 911! Call 911!"
( Warning: scene of accident depicted behind the cut. Non-grisly, no blood. Amazingly, nobody was hurt. )
The fragility of my nerves is a scary thing. One little personal attack and the edifice of my calm shivers and shifts dangerously. My mood is affected, my judgment becomes impaired--timing, sense of direction, depth perception, eyesight, hearing, the whole thing--so that I become frustrated, and more tense. I handle life's unrelated troubles--like my sister's accident on Sunday--badly, and feel more fragile, which leads to my making more mistakes, which bring more attacks, to the point where even something as random as a car wreck outside my house feels as if it were mystically attracted by this nexus of bad.
I must absolutely clear this state before going to court tomorrow. I really must.
I made a miscalculation on my bike and inconvenienced (I do not say endangered!) a motorcyclist, who laid on his horn and shouted at me. I shouted back, probably not my best move, but it doesn't take a lot to pierce the fragile veil of my newly-reinstalled calm. One of the things he shouted was, "I hope you make it home alive."
I did, and there was (perhaps ironically) a disc of Dead Like Me awaiting. I love that show--I find it heartwarming and soothing, despite the title and subject matter, so, fairly useless for anything else, I sat down to mass-consume all four eps.
About halfway into the third one, I hear a screech and a crash-boom VERY near where I'm sitting in my living room, and, before I'm off the couch to look out the window, a whole lot of shouts and cries of "Call 911! Call 911!"
( Warning: scene of accident depicted behind the cut. Non-grisly, no blood. Amazingly, nobody was hurt. )
The fragility of my nerves is a scary thing. One little personal attack and the edifice of my calm shivers and shifts dangerously. My mood is affected, my judgment becomes impaired--timing, sense of direction, depth perception, eyesight, hearing, the whole thing--so that I become frustrated, and more tense. I handle life's unrelated troubles--like my sister's accident on Sunday--badly, and feel more fragile, which leads to my making more mistakes, which bring more attacks, to the point where even something as random as a car wreck outside my house feels as if it were mystically attracted by this nexus of bad.
I must absolutely clear this state before going to court tomorrow. I really must.
