sometimes i give myself the creeps

this morning i went and became a member of the local 24 hour fitness. i am basically against fitness clubs with every single molecule of my body, but after marin attacks 2k7 (the car that hit me, by the way, turns out to be a red lexus), i decided i needed to do something to maintain the tiny tiny amount of cardiovascular stamina i gained by riding my bike this summer. it is clear that my bike is not an option. first, it is destroyed and second, my legs aren’t currently too keen on walking up stairs, let alone riding a bike. so the fitness place by my house has a pool and swimming seems like the perfect interim activity. and it was okay, really pretty great actually, even though the guy who signed me up was obviously on meth and i was stopped about 3 times in the deep end by some guy floating laps next to me who was sure he’s seen me surfing at ocean beach. i didn’t have the heart to tell him that actually he just recognized me from walking into the building at the same time as him. instead i just pretended i was a surfer. he obviously wasn’t a real surfer anyway because he seemed convinced by my act. there was a hot tub and a steam room and i got a smoothie afterward and walked slowly home. i thought i was doing great. but about 20 minutes later i realized i wasn’t.

it’s not that i’m in terrible amounts of pain, it’s just that i am so so tired. swimming for 45 minutes doesn’t usually mean i need to lie on the couch for the rest of the day, watching reality tv and trying not to cry. it’s obnoxious really, not being completely fine after 2 days of recovery. i guess i need to get with the truth, that even though none of my bones are broken, i did get in a fight with a big big piece of metal and the metal won. not a surprise really. it’s just funny that it happened right at the time i had everything close to almost together. my room was clean even. i was getting shit done. but now it’s like gravity gained weight. a lot of weight. like gravity got pregnant with twins.

i can’t believe what a whiner i am. i didn’t actually lie on the couch all day. i forced myself to get on the bus and go downtown. but it was pretty depressing down there too. i couldn’t find anything that made me look like i was cool and there were way too many people missing teeth and in handcuffs. and i was really tired. and i still am.

about how they made me come home from also i can’t stop thinking about how fucking scary it was to get run into by a car. of course it’s scary, right? but i feel like a huge wuss about it. last year i found this letter my dad wrote to afsafrica. in it there was this mention of the girl i was meeting when i almost got shot, my friend sabree, about how she told her mom that if i had seen what she saw (a guy getting shot in the head), i would have been on the first plane out of africa, or something like that. because i am such a baby is the implication. and compared to sabree and most people, i totally am. that time in africa, when a car drove by me and i made eye contact with the guy leaning out the window shooting back at the security guards, i thought i was dead. and that’s how i felt when i was lying on the street screaming in marin. i really thought that i was going to die. when i realized what was happening, i remember thinking,”this is how people die. i never thought this would happen to me but it just did and now i am going to die. this happens.”

super melodrama, i know but i had no idea what was going on; i couldn’t breath because of how i landed; i couldn’t tell what parts of my body were hurt or even still connected to other parts. i had no context for what had happened directly before i was on the ground, which was basically: i’m riding along, in place i have been a bunch of other times, and i look up and see this older guy who passed me a minute before and think, “oh there he is” and then i am not connected to my bike any more and there are loud crunching noises and then i am hit hard by something.

it seemed like it could be anything. i was screaming because i wanted people to know something was wrong. i wanted to talk to my parents but i thought i better just say “call my mom” because that’s what you are supposed to say in these situations. all these women came around me and one girl was so incredibly nice and held my hand but i just wanted her to leave me alone. the car that hit me pulled up in front of me and the driver came out and i heard her say, “did i hit her?” and then the passenger of the car came up and called 911 and said, “we saw you riding your bike and we said how fast you were going and then we hit you.”

when i think about the really terrible things that could happen, like having my home burned down and my family murdered in front of me or various standard war zone scenes, i feel like a loser even making a deal out of this little thing. but i think the problem is the randomness and the idea that you are about to be dead. turns out i don’t want to die. and also, my legs still hurt.