Six days ago I found myself spinning off of a highway at 80 KM/H, trapped in a vessel of perspective changing plastics.
It is surprising just how many decipherable thoughts are successfully processed in fractions of sections; this could have been it; I remember thinking...
- no cars coming, good.
- just how steep is the bank of this road
- we're definitely going to be hurt, which is fine. I just don't want to be paralyzed or badly burned. I'd rather die than live remotely close to vegetative state.
- This is fucked.
We hit the ditch. A mound of melting snow that embraces us like a mother who gently welcomes home their lost child - no shame, just relief. A pillow of second chance, like a now, in my mid-late 20s smelling a vanilla scented scratch and sniff - I am reminded of feeling innocent; a spectator to the hands that guide my life. No control, but comfortable. This isn't my fault, it is no one's fault, but I feel some burden.
My hands are shaking, my roommate and I do a quick check of all of our parts - temporarily neglecting the raw and rampant energy that courses through veins. If a feelings talk comes up right now, we will break down. Lets keep this focussed, task oriented. O.K.
Just. get. busy.
Dogs are alive. We're alive. Car is sitting on its side - lets climb out the passenger side door. Tow truck is on its way. Two hours of wait is nothing compared to what could have been.
I think I've been processing this event nearly every minute of each of the six days between then and now and it has been quite taxing. As if something shook the core of my self. Totally not invincible, definitely care about continuing; if not improving on my functionality.
I am also very tired of winter.
listen to this if you want.
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