Presence

https://tinyurl.com/52fmsjkk

Maybe you’re drunker than you think, but not that drunk, so  we’ve got to blame multi-tasking which is stupid anyway especially when it involves professional sports, and is impossible, as well, since we can really only think one thought at a time, right?

But then there you are, your friends’ cries of surprise and disbelief echoing in the background, as you find yourself tits over teakettle splayed out in the puddle.

Nice bike to save your stupid ass; thanks, Grant!; the Haulin’ Colin rack an unintentionally (or maybe intentionally) perfect front roll-bar, as well.

You’d been congratulating yourself all this uncommonly wet week for staying dry, employing booties and plastic and even two rain jackets simultaneously in the effort, but all is lost when you fill your bag up to the brim with leftover rainwater scooped by the fall. 

Also, it feels weird to ride without the leg strap dropped earlier in the day; you should have expected the unexpected.

Which would you rather have?  A favorite team’s loss or a broken collarbone?

Like Jack Benny said, “I’m thinking…”

But, duh.

You never know quite how you are until the next day or maybe later.  What once took six weeks could be eight or even forever, so you’ve got to be careful and all that more grateful when your lack thereof isn’t punished too harshly.

It makes you wonder what’s going to really do us in: our own stupid mistakes or the stupid mistakes of others.  Probably both, and that’s why.

There’s no use complaining about what all turns out okay in the end, but it’s still fun to talk about it, especially in the company of those who are no less pleased than you by the lack of injury while simultaneously being glad that they’re not as soaked as you are, either.

In order for a thrilling victory, you gotta have a thrilling loss; sometimes, though, you get to—go to—have both.