Scene 7: Blindsided

This day was scripted.

That is the only (semi-)logical explanation I can think of for how and why the past twenty-ish hours unraveled the way they did. . .

It's the only way I can turn treading through pitch-black and thoroughly eerie hallways, icy shower water in virtual darkness, breakfast of two stale mini-muffins and a chunk of warm honeydew melon, and one too many collisions with doors, beds, desks, and walls that really weren't there five seconds earlier into "nothing like a good power outage to wake you up in the morning!"

The only way this young male and this bag found each other, decided to go out in public today, smashed into me with an infuriating disregard, and continued on devoid of any Daisy-induced injury. . .

The only way that scruffy man. . .oooh. . .that man, sitting and smoking, clad in a long, greenish-tan coat and thick-framed glasses, managed to turn his head, spit, have said spit land on my leg, and live to--more likely than not--never tell the tale. . .

The only way a guy's backpack could cut into my stomach as he, unbeknownst to him, proceeded to sit on me on the bus, the only way the girl in my environmental science class (who laughs like this, but only at her own comments) could jab me in the chest with a 25mL pipette, and the only way a squirrel, for whose safe passage across the sidewalk I came to a complete stop, could run into my foot (thus eliciting squeals from the both of us) and scamper off in the direction from which he came is if someone wrote it that way. Seriously. . .

In other words, this day bushwhacked, sucker-punched, give a dog a bone (if it'll keep him from running into me) the lights out of me in ways I cannot believe. At this point, I'm fairly certain the only additional "crashing" I could possibly handle would be the sort that involves pillows, blankets, and blissful unconsciousness. Let us hope I fare better than poor Bizkit. . .(perhaps he should be the dog to get the aforementioned bone, eh?)

I apologize for the excessive linkage used to relay my points.

-Daisy

PS - Clever, Vi. Shall I remind you of your could-be fate?