Sitting in my bed that night, I replayed the scene in my head and wondered why there had been no one else around me. Had it been a test? Was I supposed to have pulled over and helped her? Stopped and blocked traffic to prevent her from being slaughtered on the highway? I began to ponder if it had even occured at all. Tonight I feel the same way.
Not only did I not help, but I drove on by both times. I could've at least stopped and gaped and called 911, right? I think it says something bad about me that I was the ONLY one flying by. I don't know. The one time I called 911 was when an 18-wheeler was drifting across an offramp at 10 miles an hour, blocking all the lanes. Ready to flip off the driver of this truck as I finally approached him, I noticed he was slumped over the wheel, either dead or asleep. I relayed this to the 911 operator who was totally apathetic and basically hung up on me. I guess it's cool to die in your big rig and also to drive in the carpool lane when you're an oil tanker. See that a lot.
So it's Friday, finally. I have no plans but to organize all my dragqueen makeup that's somehow ended up on the bathroom floor that I have been slipping and sliding around on for a week. I purchased a pink Caboodles (not willing to pay 45 dollars for a two-toned teal and purple 80s one on Ebay, although I thought about it) that I plan to do this with.
I put up all my Halloween shit, so that's done.
My next big project is to get married and have a baby. Witnessed a few of them (babies) being really annoying in Ikea the other weekend though, so I don't know, I am determined to have a nice Day of the Dead wedding next year though. Fiance is not as helpful as could possibly be, claiming he only wants nachos and his mother present. How about a best man? A taco bar? I guess this is why women become bridezillas. I may call WeTV and have them film myself being one.