Sunday, October 7, 2012

Knock on Wood

I had a series of unfortunate events. All related to money, which I moderately value. (And when I say moderately value I mean this: say for instance that I was asked to move and the reason was money. There was more money over there... that direction. I wouldn't go. Not if that was it. But say there was love, over there, that direction, I'd go. Not tomorrow, but let me get the money worked out, and then I'll see you there. )
I'm not sure where I  picked up my superstitions, and damn me for not realizing they were there sooner, but one bad thing makes me fear the next. A speeding ticket is a sign that I'm on the wrong path, and a lost phone is a harbinger of more loss and sorrow. I once got locked out of my sister's house with a 3 year old for hours in the vicious sun, then the transmission fell out of my car on the way home, and then I got dumped over dinner. I tried to be nonchalant about renting a car for 280 dollars just to get to the lousy date... nothing was going to stop me, but should I have been paying closer attention?
No! Fear mongering. What are you, a Republican? No sir! Superstitions are for the lazy, the victims of the world whining that the universe cursed them into always loosing raffles. It's for the control freaks and the paranoid.  It's a trap; most of the time, your car accident wasn't about you or what you deserve; it just blows.
Fine, I admit it. I'm superstitious. But I'm not pretentious enough to claim I know the language of all these messages.  But strike me down in my very chair this moment if I am wrong! Nope... I'm still here. But did I just tempt the fates? Jesus, superstitions are for the mentally ill...

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