It's more than apparent, looking at this debacle, that she wasn't nearly as committed as I was. Granted, we hadn't discussed it but since she appeared to be leading the way, I assumed we were both committed. I assumed incorrectly, as we are all wont to do from time to time.
How are you supposed to know these kinds of things? I had a split second in which I asked myself if this is what I wanted to do and without any further thinking, the answer was yes. At that point I put the pedal to the metal and surged forward, having no idea that she was asking herself the exact same thing at the exact same time and came to a vastly different conclusion. Such is the case when two worlds collide. Without any concept of what the other world wants to do, the whole thing could become a jumbled wreck.
From my perspective, I had been cruising for some time before this, motoring along fine on my own before I had ever seen her. It wasn't until the precise second I realized the disparity in how we viewed things that I began to understand how bad it all would get.
And yet, there I was. Standing amongst the mangled wreckage wondering how the hell it all came to pass. I felt slightly nauseated and couldn't focus. I thought about making an effort to pick up the pieces but the effort seemed pointless. It was too overwhelming to take in at once. I needed to take a walk on the beach and then stop off for a few strong drinks. Sometimes life flashes violently in carnage and shards.
Why the hell didn't she just keep going? The light was yellow! Most people would go ahead and apply the gas and push through the light but this chick decided to slam on the brakes. It's a sickening sensation that comes on rapidly in the fleeting instant you realize the car in front of you decided to brake at the exact moment you decided to go.
She gets out of her car pissed off that I rammed her from behind. I get out of mine irate that she was too big of a pansy to keep driving through the yellow light. Our worlds collide in heaps of metal at the intersection of Sunset and Highland. Now I am standing next to the smoking remains of my truck wondering why she just couldn't have kept going.
If only she had been as committed to making the light as I was this would never have been a problem. There is a probably a moral in here somewhere but I am too pissed to care.
Life has a sick sense of humor doesn't it? It reminds me of me.
No Jackson Panics were harmed in the making of this story.
reprinted from jackson's blog @ www.igetpanic.com