A few events transpired yesterday to land me in a most foul mood I couldn't shake. Trying to write was unthinkable, especially since I had just gotten a rejection for something I was pretty sure would be accepted. I decided to get on my bike to drop off rent (yeah, late, see "a few events transpiring" above and read into that boring financial woes etc and remember that if you ever think how great it must be to be a writer and you don't have a trust fund), hit the post office, clear the old noggin, and start over when I got back.
I normally avoid the dreaded Government Street on my bike, but since the post office was on that street, I was riding along it, senses on high alert. I was at least a third of the way crossing over a side street when a white sedan came barreling toward me, and mind you there was a stop sign where I was crossing. I shot her a look, like, are you planning to STOP? and rode a little faster just in case she decided not to stop and rather hit the cyclist crossing directly in her path. She DID hit me! She just clipped the back of my wheel, but still-- I lost all composure and yelled obscenities while gesturing wildly New York style. She gave a little "oops sorry" wave, I guess Louisiana style--in New York they would have yelled right back; that's what I was expecting.
That pretty much closed the lid on the rest of the day, I was in a funk reminiscent of high school constant-napping depressed mode. Although I had to admit with the perspective of someone nearly two decades older that it could have been much worse if I had been one or two seconds slower. And what package was I bringing to the post office to mail?
The Jesus fan. Thanks, JC with the Chuck Norris cut. Your protection has now been passed on to Amanda, who requested you.
Now please send me lots of lucrative writing work.