I got hit by a car yesterday.
Before you panic, I am OK! I am OK because, while the car drove into me, it was going, like, 5 miles an hour? It kind of hit my purse first, which I was holding down by my side, and then all of a sudden I felt this nudge on my leg. I turned around and saw the corner of the front bumper of some sandy-colored Buick. It was really confusing at first, and the driver literally froze in his tracks. He waited until I had walked on some distance, then slowly drove past me, keeping a wide berth as he passed. I thought about snapping a picture of his license plate, but … meh.
Anyway, the incident got me thinking: It took five whole years to get hit by a car. I’ve been threatened by asshole drivers who pull up within millimeters of my body because they couldn’t wait for a pedestrian to finish crossing the road. I’ve been hit by side mirrors of drivers trying to squeeze past me in some tight space instead of waiting for me to pass. But to be actually driven into for no reason! Then I realized that — wow — it actually has been five years. Or just four days shy.
I landed in this glorious shithole on the frigid night of Dec. 14, 2009. The next five years flew by. The end.
(Haha, just kidding, I’ll keep bloggin, yo.)