Apollo his bow

 

August 18, 2024

Felt actually pretty great this morning. A five day recovery: neither good nor bad.

 A car with Florida plates cut me off where Merrimon hits downtown. His lane went left, mine straight ahead, but he kept going straight so I had to brake to avoid a crash. I tapped my horn so he’d see that he was making a mistake. He stopped dead in front of me, put his hand out the window, gave me the finger, to teach me a lesson. I laid on the horn. I could see him thrashing about inside the car like he’d sat on a bare wire. He moved on a little, stopped again; I laid on the horn. Another finger out the window. He moving inside, again, like he was on fire. He moved on, repeated the operation. This happened three times in one block. He made a light I had to stop for, so I thought that was all done. But he had stopped, waiting, and swooped in behind me, tailgating. I realized I didn’t even have to brake to ruin his day, merely lift my foot off the accelerator. I did not. Switched lanes. He sped up, zoomed in front of me. In his haste to get in front and brake check me, he lost control of his car, which jumped the curb and ended up on the dead grass at the side. I went on. Here’s the interesting thing. It was road rage on his part, but not on mine. I was not the least bit enraged. I was having fun. It’s like when you know the right thing to do or say that sends the neighborhood brat into a tantrum. I was playing and his taking it all so fatally serious was part of the fun. I’ll test to see if I regret this later. 

Young A comes with his mother to church, then puts on his acolyte robes. He never arrives without his lacross stick, which I think is wonderful, a god bearing his attribute, Herakles his club, Apollo his bow.