Extreme Sports

I was in an accident last month. The predatory tow worker told me he was “shocked my airbag did not deploy.” My insurance lawyer told me the circumstances of the accident do not matter; I am at fault. I was making a “suicide squeeze.” Last month, in the immediate shock after the impact, I posted a picture of my detached bumper online with the text “officially back on the I Hate LA campaign.”

Last week I texted a friend I don’t trust asking if it would be potentially funny for my mostly annual Christmas card this year to parody the boastful year of accomplishments and travels cards that arrive annually without tact. My year of bad luck, but funny! They said yes.

The longer I have lived in Los Angeles, the worse my luck.

Knock on wood.

I’ve started wearing sunglasses while grocery shopping. I’ve started wearing sunglasses inside. I recognize the problem every time. I keep them on.

A coworker joked I am condescending and pretentious. I remembered an incident from my freshman year of high school when a classmate screamed at me in bio class. Earlier this year, I threw up on the street outside of a party, and months later, a friend told me it made her like me more.

The last time I wore sunglasses under fluorescent lighting, I hadn’t eaten all day. A few hours before, I learned the parts to repair my car are back-ordered, and then only ten minutes after is when my lawyer called. I was walking around Trader Joe’s thinking about how I was probably starving myself as punishment, and in a way, it felt good. Subconsciously, choosing extreme sports (lack of nutrients) as a consequence for extreme sports (driving in LA County).

When my lawyer called and told me his decision, I cried, and he told me he wasn’t trying to be mean.