And some days after life throws you a kidney punch, it throws in a crotch shot when you're already down

Believe me, I'm aware that many, many others have it much worse.  But sometimes it's just salt in the wounds.  Sometimes you get screwed over, and you just have to wonder where the proverbial lube was when you needed it.  And sometimes you just need to let it out.  So no worries.  This is no "woe is me."  It's just a pity part for one -- for like five minutes, tops.  And then it's back to the laughs, the revelry, the cheerful cynicism;  you know, the memories. 

Anyway.  This past week started with a good punch to the kidneys, and after I had recovered and rediscovered my joie de vivre -- or at least my pourrait être pire -- I got a kick to the crotch.

It's funny.  (I think.)  When I was moving out to LA, I packed all the belongings I could fit into my little car and got on I-55 out of Chicago.  Not much more than 20 minutes out, in bad traffic, my front passenger side tire popped and burst from the car, which then grated along the highway on three tires and one rim.  My brother and I had a second to watch the flayed rubber of my former tire turn end over end above the cars behind us before the rim veered my car sharply to the right and I smashed into a truck.  Shortly thereafter, my mother said that perhaps it was a sign that I wasn't meant to move out West.

She was mostly joking, but you've gotta wonder.  Life hasn't exactly been chalk full of signs that that wasn't the case.  Hence, kidney punch and crotch shot.

So Memorial Day weekend will be one of triage and reevaluation. But, I guess this is exactly what degrees in English and film production prepare you for!

ps.  Dear May, you suck.

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