I Fought a Volkswagon and the Volkswagon Won

You know those times when the worst thing that could possibly happen actually happens? These incidents are usually prefaced with a handful of miniature stupid actions. And if you were to not do one of those mini actions, the big stupid incident would most likely never materialize. The thing is, you never know what, in life, constitutes a stupid mini action that may gather its surrounding stupid mini actions thus culminating in said big stupid incident. Ohhh, how do I say what I'm trying to say?

On Saturday night, I got totally smoked by a Volkswagon Passat while riding my bicycle home. In the blink of an eye, I went from fantasizing about chips with ketchup and the warmth of my evening's rest to peeling my body off the surprisingly hard street. The thing is, my mind immediately began considering the events of the day, the events that, if changed, would have put me in a different place at that moment, somewhere other than the middle of the fucking street with blood running down my arm and unprecedented pain running up.

I went to the market at 11:30 am. That's acceptable. I often go to the market, that's part of the routine. It stays.

I went to a friend's place to help them cast on. The beginnings of a new scarf. Not part of the routine, but it's still early in the day. I'm a sucker for crafts.

I had to walk back past town to get my bicycle which I left at the market. Ran into some friends. Drank a couple beers at the pub. I hadn't seen them in a while, one of my beers was paid for. It stays. I'm a sucker for a free beer. It's 6:00 by now.

I ride back up to a friend's place for pizza, free pizza. I'm a sucker, it stays.

I go to a party of awkward adulthood in an apartment that's way too nice, with cheese that's way to pungent, meats that are way too specifically spiced, and crackers that are just too intricate. I could have ended the night here. I wouldn't have confronted the Passat, I would have been asleep by midnight.

I go to another bar searching for a couple Irish minxes staying with a friend of mine. Had I made it to this point, I had to try to find them. I have an annoyingly soft spot in my heart for absurdly adorable Irish girls. I dream about this sometimes, it involves Bailey's, a leprechaun, and, well, never mind.

I didn't find them. I had one more drink and headed home. A 20 minute walk at most, 5 minute bike ride. I had my jacket in my bag cuz it was warmish. Short sleeved I rode to my demise. I came up to my street, made a wide left turn and totally ran into the side of a fucking Volkswagon Passat that was stupidly trying to pass me. I went flying, woke up on the ground. I somehow see my glasses about 15 feet away on the street (this is shocking because it was dark and I have terrible vision, seriously this is like a miracle).

I walked home, got blood on the wall, walked to the emergency room (half an hour away) and had an amazingly free entertaining experience at the most blinged out emergency room encounter I've ever had.

Now that I think about it, I wouldn't really change much about my day. It was all pretty much worth it. Pretty much the ideal day of unplanned events flowing into one another with the efficiency of a planned day at camp, but the unpredictability of a gas oven. The one thing I would change is the jacket. If I had been wearing it, my arm would be in significantly better shape than it is. Its not so much the grossness of the road burn. It looks like I'm a frickin burn victim. Its the constant irritation cuz there are hairs there and what not all caught up in the scab. GROSS!!!! I can't complain, it could've been an absurd amount worse.

Now I take the bus.