CRASH!

Literally.

Last weekend had to be the most surreal experience of my 22 years on this sweet sweet earth. On my way to meet up with friends I was hit by a taxi and rushed to the emergency room. I have no recollection of the event and have no desire to remember my body coming into contact with a three ton vehicle. For some reason people thing that's odd. I think they're odd.

As a result of this near tragic event my family has become even more terrified of my independence and (ir)responsibility. It was a mistake, a lapse in judgment. I don't blame them for being anxious, but it's hard enough going through this traumatic experience without your family judging you. Eh, I'll live. I mean... I'm living. oh geez. That's another thing. I'm uncomfortably calm about what happened to me. I didn't see any flashing lights or experience euphoria. There were no strokes of genius or life-changing ideas that sprung into my head while I was in the hospital. I just had the overwhelming desire to be outside in the clean cool air and away from the sick, decrepit stench of that hospital room. I am so lucky to be alive, there is no denying that, but I don't value life any more than I did before the accident. I have been in love with life for a while now, and continue to love life.

I felt I should write about the accident, but I'm kind of embarrassed by my lack of life-changing exuberance.

I'm alive.

I am ecstatic to be alive.

I love my life and everyone in it. I really do!




I'm out.