So today, between Conference sessions, I ran to the store to get milk for the Big O. Leaving the parking lot, I managed to hit one of those blue mailboxes. I couldn't figure out how it happened, but when the cops showed up to investigate, they noticed that my back end was crushed--apparently, without my noticing, some large truck or SUV nailed the back of the Taurus and knocked me into the mailbox. They said that's not unusual in rearends, to only notice the damage happening that you can see.
This alone would have been bad omen enough for a new month, but what happened next was truly horrible. Even though it's all seared into my mind, I can't quite believe it yet. Perhaps tomorrow I can blog more seriously about this, but for now, here's simply what happened:
The mailbox, which was apparently bolted to the ground by 3,000-year-old bolts, snapped off the sidewalk and flew flew away from me--and directly towards two little blonde girls giving away kittens. I screamed.
Miraculously, it missed both of them, landing between instead. It was unreal--like something out of Looney Toons--except for the kitten-shaped blood marks on the side of the Rite-Aid. More like Happy Tree Friends I suppose. All six of them were rendered into mashed little furry bone bags. That description sounds funny. But it wasn't funny. Both girls cried the whole time I was there.
The girls were able to tell the cops that the thing that hit me was green, so they're looking for it now, I guess. I'm at my parents, waiting for them to call.
Oh, I hope not.
Yes, it could have been much, much worse.
But I still hope it gets better from here....