I’m not being a pussy.
There is a fine line between being superstitious about a date on the calendar and living in abject, shit yourself stark terror at the thought of a particular date on a calendar.
You wake up on Friday the 13th and realize that you are laying in a puddle of your own urine.
And it only goes downhill from there.
Someone tried to tell me that “It’s just another day, its no big deal”.
If this was a horror film, they would be the one that decides to investigate the abandoned boat house by themself.
In other words, they will be the first to die horribly.
Fear is a funny thing.
Not funny ha ha, but funny like scared and you turn and run into a pole funny.
I lost my keys on the last Friday the 13th.
That may not sound like much, but if I fell into a wood chipper trying to find them, you would feel differently, wouldn’t you?
See what I mean?
“But you didn’t fall into a wood chipper.”
I got lucky that Friday the 13 decided to find a victim elsewhere that day.
There are only 2 Friday the 13ths this year.
At least that spreads out the horror instead of it being just 1 day.
When its just 1 day, 1 Friday the 13th in a year, that is some powerful mojo.
That is like Y2K, planes falling from the sky, MASS HYSTERIA kind of day.
2 in a year is more of your, cheesy slasher film kind of horror.
That I can deal with.
All I need is coffee and to hear that click on the door of my panic room.
Then I can just sit there naked and drink my coffee and wait for the inevitable.
Why am I naked?
Why are you clothed? (Let’s not get bogged down with a lot of questions.)
Side note. A dog barked next door and I just about pissed myself. Shut that beast up, some of us are trying to quiver in fear, for God’s sake!
The sad part is, I have to go to work.
I showered and narrowly escaped slipping and cracking my head open.
I shaved and almost cut my throat open when my razor broke.
The drive to work was like a Mission Impossible car chase.
I am sitting at my desk, waiting for a disgruntled co worker to go on a rampage.
So I realize I am on borrowed time here.
Tell my kids I love them.
At some point, I am sure a Syrian refugee will commit an act of some sort in my vicinity with dire consequences.
Its kind of a “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and it will probably kill you.” type of thing.
So, if I survive the day and I am not in a medically induced coma, (Might be the only way to save me) I will write about my survival next week.
Until then, keep your head down, drink your coffee, and for God’s sake, put some pants on.