Yesterday I was running on Whitney Avenue by Lake Whitney and I spotted a giant worm in my path. I deftly avoided stepping on it and continued on my way. A split second later I thought about how tragic it would be if another, less observant, runner squashed him. I couldn’t just leave Mr. Worm to die so I quickly turned back… it was a little gross, but I picked him up and dropped him over a fence and onto a lush pile of grass and leaves. I continued on my run, feeling really good about myself- I had saved the worm from certain death! Then, as often happens on long runs, my thoughts became deeper and more philisophical. I thought about fate and destiny and how I had the power to alter these things. A few minutes later I hit an intersection and saw a car ahead of me rip around the bend and skid up on the curb. Had I been about 30 seconds further along, would I have been hit? Then it occurred to me that “saving” the worm took about 30 seconds. Now you understand my title.
= Oh a penny…! Lucky. But only if it’s head’s up -better let that one slide. Who made up that rule anyway?
= Oh a penny…! Lucky. But it’s probably dirty. If I really needed luck today I’d pick it up. On the off-chance I pick it up, I check to see if it was made the year I was born. If not, I feel let down. It has never happened. That’s probably why I hardly ever pick up pennies: They ALWAYS dissappoint me.
= Is this a quarter?! Nope, just a nickel! I should have looked more carefully before picking it up. Oh well!
= Oh, it’s a dime. I’d pick it up but it’s superskinny and, thus, hard to swiftly and discretely remove from the sidewalk or the scummy tile floor of the convenience store on Lexington and 70/71st. $.10 is probably not worth it. (I usually regret this at least two times during the next hour and a half).
=GUMBALL!
= Words could not express my excitement. A word to all you penny-picker-uppers: This is what luck looks like.
OK I’ll be the next (and second to last) one in my family to start this blog thing. In the past I’ve seen other people’s blogs and thought, what the hell is wrong with them? Why do they think people want to read anything they have to say? But the other day I thought of a few reasons why I should start a blog:
1) I can keep a record of all the annoying/funny/weird things that happen (like the time a homeless guy called me a “fucking slut bitch,” or my conversation with a cab driver about shooting a porn in his backseat -luckily I was sitting shotgun).
2) I can use it to fill up any small amount of spare time I have (right now I’m at work, the place where I ironically have the most idle time).
3) Everyone else in my family is doing it and, like Rachealleah, I don’t like feeling left out.
So my blog may not be any more insightful or interesting than the blogs I’ve scoffed at in the past, but I’m sure I’ll think it is. And I guess that’s all that matters.
