  Sorry Abby, you have to understand that yesterday was the conclusive bad day to the worst day ever. Let me tell you all about it. And sorry to everyone else if I slighted you in any way, just hear me out first. The day started out normally...sort of. I woke up after four hours of sleep, not being able to get back to that euphoric state of rest and feeling generally sluggish.
I went and drank some really strong coffee. Then I took my Doryx, a face medicine. Without food, Doryx, in me, causes a chemical reaction that induces serious vomiting...that's why, when I was on my way to the movies to see XMen 2, I pulled over on the side of Ellington Parkway and vomited my guts out for the duration of fifteen minutes. Had I a simple cracker on hand I could have been safe. But no; I puked my guts out and sat down to breathe for another five or so. My dad pulled off (he took the driver's seat after this), and we had lunch with a friend at the Baja Burrito downtown, whereafter we saw X2, and it was wonderful. After it was over I got a call. It was my mom. She said she had found my cat, not that he had been missing. It was that he was dead. I didn't really cry over it, but it got me to thinking about everything and it really seemed pointless. That's when I went to the library and, in those memory-filled surroundings, I composed that post. I haven't read it since, nor do I plan to. I went home then. At home I sat around, I tried reading, I found my mind coming back to this post and the general reaction to it, I figured no one would really like it.
I didn't care. My dad was watching TV, and he saw a commercial for Sonic. "Let's go," he said, "see if we can get back before eight," to WATCH A TV SHOW. The drive was quick, dad was over the speed limit at least twelve miles an hour the whole time, but we made it. The order was quick, and we left just as quickly. Coming down Ben Allen Road there is an intersect with the I-96 exits. A Lexus waited, wanting to make a left turn. Dad was doing 50, 10 miles over the limit on Ben Allen. The car rolled out too far and stopped in the right lane, My dad changed lanes. The car rolled into the left lane, which we were presently in, and stopped.
I heard the breaks screeching, I saw it coming and gripped the sides of the car hard. I had enough time to scream, "Oh shit. " Then it was chaos. The initial punch of the airbags was loud. It shattered my side of the windshield into a million piees and my open, screaming mouth caught a few, which I would be coughing up for the duration of the night. The belt caught me hard on the shoulder and tore it a bit; I had a mild lasceration and a belt-shaped bruise over my chest.
I did not touch the bag. My dad, on the other hand, caught him full in the face; he got a bit of a shiner and his shoulder is beaten up pretty bad. And I got covered in vanilla flavoured Coca-Cola. I managed to reach over and turn off the car, I could smell the transmission about to start on fire, coupled with the excessive sulphurous smell of the bags freshly deflated. The first thing I did was get out of the car, scream "FUCK! " to an audience of awe-struck people, and began kicking the car yelling the profanity until I remembered the lady in the gold Lexus, who was not getting out of her car.
Her leg was stuck and she had some diaphragm damage. The resultant ambulance and five other emergency vechicles were able to take care of her, not to mention the FIVE police men. My dad's car was totaled, the Lexus had its axle bent in half, so the tire is like "/" that instead of "|" this.
There was a concrete island for one of the on-ramps, and I sat there, eating fries, reading Rosie's French dictionary, clutching my bleeding shoulder, and shaking my head as I looked up at the smoking wreck every few minutes. I read until the sun went down, and then I just stared at the wreck until they took it all away, I got into the back of a police cruiser, and we sped toward my house. The cop did twenty over until we got home. I got my mom to pick us up, I took two Benadryls, and I knew no more. Jerry Cantrell once said "Dying a little bit helps you appreciate life", and I really think it has. Sorry all, and excuse me while I go spit up some more glass. 
