Not an Ordinary Thursday

Thursday seemed like an ordinary Thursday for me. Busy. I was onto my next stop at the first grade class I help out in. Like a normal driver, I stopped at a stop sign-how clever? I came to a full and complete stop, looked both ways, and then proceeded to go through the intersection. When I was almost halfway through I realized the enormous truck that seemed so far away at the time was not slowing down. He was going about 40 in a 25 zone. I freaked out. I didn’t know what to do and didn’t have much time to figure it out either. No matter what I did, he was going to hit me. I was sure this was it for the purple protégé and me. I closed my eyes, tensed up every muscle in body, and watched my short 18 years flash before my eyes. There was a horrible screeching sound, but no flip, no jolt, nothing else. I opened my eyes to see if I was dead or if I didn’t feel it because I was so scared. The answer: neither. To my surprise the enormous truck stopped literally a ¼ inch from my door. In fact he may have tapped it slightly. I didn’t move as the man in the truck backed up and maneuvered around me. He drove away apologizing and feeling very bad. After he left, I pulled to the side of the road, tried to remain calm, and I went on my way. I made it out with nothing but some stiff muscles and maybe a tiny dent in my car. However, I’m not sure I will take that route again.

So Long, Farewell...

Dear Headache,
I am so extremely tired of having you around! Today marks the 4th year of you being a part of my life. My life completely changed because of you- and not in a good way. Without you, I imagine that I would be completely different. I see myself loving high school, not being afraid of being too tired or hurting to much to hang out with people, and having confidence in myself. The truth is I will never be able to this with you around. Please, go away! You have way overstayed your welcome. You make me not feel like a normal kid. Normal kids don’t live in constant pain, have spinal taps or take medication up the yin-yang. Normal kids go to the doctors to get an answer, but I go expecting they won’t know how to help at all. I wish everyday that it will be our last together. That I will wake up and the pain you give will have miraculously disappeared. I am asking that you please go away; that you go and never ever return. I hope that by March ’09 I will celebrate you being gone and not be down in the dumps about having a 5th “anniversary.”

Peace Out,
Kelli