LizzieMaine
Bartender
- Messages
- 33,732
- Location
- Where The Tourists Meet The Sea
Anything's possible. I could slip on the sidewalk walking to the mailbox this very evening and crack my head open and die on the street, with only cigarette butts, wharf rats, and wandering salt-heads to witness my sad end. I could contract flesh-eating bacteria from a dirty fork while eating breakfast next week at my favorite greasy spoon, and my arm could rot off, forcing me to spend the rest of my life with an itch in the middle of my back that I'll never be able to reach. I could turn on cable news out of boredom some night and die of enuui.
But you know what? I'm not going to live my life in constant, quivering terror of somehow dying. Because I *am* going to die, don't know where or when, but the result is inevitable. And I resolved a long time ago not to feel like I had to spend my whole life in denial of that fact. If I get hit by a car, or a grand piano pushed off a roof by a nearby MIT student, or a radioactive meteor from space, so be it. I'm just not going to worry about it, and I don't need somebody passing laws telling me that I have to worry about it just because they do.
The last time I fell off a bike was in 1974. I cut myself up pretty badly, and still have scars from it -- but I survived. My sister hit a pothole on her bike a couple years later, was flung over the handlebars, and landed on her face. She still has a rock shoved up under the skin on her cheek, but she survived. A guy I went to school with got nailed by a car and smashed his arm so bad the bone was sticking out -- he walked calmly to the nearest payphone, called his mother, and told her she'd better hurry because he wanted to get home in time to watch the game. And he survived. Maybe we were all made of cast iron, but we survived.
But you know what? I'm not going to live my life in constant, quivering terror of somehow dying. Because I *am* going to die, don't know where or when, but the result is inevitable. And I resolved a long time ago not to feel like I had to spend my whole life in denial of that fact. If I get hit by a car, or a grand piano pushed off a roof by a nearby MIT student, or a radioactive meteor from space, so be it. I'm just not going to worry about it, and I don't need somebody passing laws telling me that I have to worry about it just because they do.
The last time I fell off a bike was in 1974. I cut myself up pretty badly, and still have scars from it -- but I survived. My sister hit a pothole on her bike a couple years later, was flung over the handlebars, and landed on her face. She still has a rock shoved up under the skin on her cheek, but she survived. A guy I went to school with got nailed by a car and smashed his arm so bad the bone was sticking out -- he walked calmly to the nearest payphone, called his mother, and told her she'd better hurry because he wanted to get home in time to watch the game. And he survived. Maybe we were all made of cast iron, but we survived.
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