"We'll jump, and we'll see. That's life."

In the past couple of days, I have been nearly hit by cars more times than usual. Even as a pedestrian. Well, I was running, but I assure you, I don't clock in anywhere near light speed, so I should have been readily visible to that creep in the white truck who nearly flattened me and then glared at me as if my being on the sidewalk was a statement of my hatred of my country.

I've also noticed that the cars that almost hit me in my car are almost always being captained by someone holding a cell phone to their ear. Can it be? Are the activists right? Is legislation necessary? But I wonder if they can legislate the absolute remorselessness that sets in after the near-miss. That's what gets me. Hit my car. Fine. But don't give me that look. Maybe it's that sudden flash of adrenalized embarrassment that causes people to freeze up and become jerks when they've nearly caused you harm. But that's not how I was raised. And, no matter how much I would prefer to rise above it all, I'm realizing that it's difficult to maintain an air of politeness when someone is being rude to you. Rudeness is infectious. And it has a tiny little incubation period.

Thursday is the day when the gardeners come and use heavy equipment to mow the 6 x 6 patch of lawn behind my bedroom window. Thursday mornings, I'm often tickled by a compulsion to pave over that 6 x 6 patch of lawn.

You never know what's coming. That's the beauty of it. Even when you've got yourself a solid plan. Even if it's spiral bound with a nice, thick cover. Chuck it. You never know. You can't. There's inclement weather that will have a go at your bathing costume. And sunshine that will heat up your galoshes. If I could ever just learn to try and not know, I would probably be better for it. For now, I always leave room in my handbag for a small umbrella. And a camera.