My roommate tosses me the painkillers and...

I am going to fight the urge to pen "of a mortal accent" again. It's far too dramatic.

In other news, I just survived my first motorcycle accident. I chose to brake, second guessed, attempted to swerve, and in my half decision, caught the back right bumper of a truck stopping suddenly. It would be nice to see my carcass flying through the air on YouTube, for I have no recollection of it. I only know that I have sustained significant damage to Vikram, and potentially my left knee. I was surrounded by three caring women who witnessed the event. And four passengers of the truck, vaguely smelling of particular herb.

We live most in the wake of such life forks. I stare into the windows of my apartment. They look the same. I blink and reopen, and it's as if all is being reassembled, as if I am not supposed to be here now. I blink again and everything is stupidly normal.

I know that if I had taken either choice, brake or swerve, stupidly normal would be expectable. I know that indecision nearly killed me today. It's left a peculiar discoloration on my laptop screen, and a few expectable discolorations upon my knee. And... that's all? As far as I can reckon at the moment, yes. The ice bag is where it should be - I only hope I can still hike a week hence.

Only that is not all. I am woken, in a manner that fleets. I hope to learn something from it. Is there something to learn, other than split-second decision making? I would hope so. When I sit here immobilized, do I rest and think of nothing? Do I recount events (again)? Do I read the Internet? Do I have a beer? Do I pray/thank/curse/laugh/furrow?

Thoughts have caught up to words. Time to stop.

My Speech Impediment

Don't forget to say thank you. Don't forget to say thank you. Wait for it. Don't forget to say thank you. "Thank you." Wait he's putting it all in a bag. But I've already said thank you. I'll say thank you again. No that's just going to be weird. I'll say have a good day. Don't forget to say have a good day. Don't forget to say have a good day. Wait for it. Don't forget to say have a good day.

"Thangaday"

The Three Chronicles of Song Lee

1.

I have a stowaway on my ride. A spider of incredible resourcefulness lives behind the drivers' side rear view of Song Lee. I suspect since around October. I don't use my car very often, but when I do, there's usually a fresh batch o' web haphazardly stretched across the mirror. I appraise this spider as more dedicated than talented; its creations no geometric masterpieces, but how consistently it redresses its deadly bed. I'm almost empathetic when highway speeds tear its work down. I presume, glumly, that by now the poor arachnid has grown accustomed to this life. Most I can do for it at this point is not to rock its boat. More, I try to have the diligence to park nearby a streetlight. Be there kismet unto unseen friends.

2.

In New Haven, my car parked under a massive maple tree. Over a year and tens of thousands of miles later, I'm still finding maple helicopter seeds diligently tucked into every crevice of the front half of Song Lee. Song Lee is without air conditioning, and in the direst of situations, when even 2-60 cooling isn't cutting it anymore, I'll try the vents. More often than not, a few maple seeds fly out the front vents, spill out with a twirl onto the floor and passenger seat. On one recent occasion, I turn on the vent, refocus to the road. Four seconds later, a single seed sneaks through the panel grid with a raucous, and upon bursting the gate, floats down improbably, ever so precisely, upon the top of my right hand, itself resting on stickshift in a calm (contingency of auxiliary braking) state. I felt the leaf for a few minutes, snuck a glance to confirm its accomplishment, and returned focus, let it lie while we passed through Santa Cruz.

3.

I completely forgot to re-register Song Lee.