This is probably the hailstone that cracked the glass on my bedroom window at 1:45 am early this morning. We got a devastating hailstorm in the middle of the night. Baseball-sized hail came down on parts of Carrollton, Texas and bashed in car windshields and broke windows and stripped leaves and branches from trees.
It not only woke me up, it made me instantly desperate. I do not have the $1000 dollars necessary for the insurance deductible that such a disaster would create. My economic recovery after bankruptcy would be completely derailed. No car means no extra money from Uber to help pay for doctor bills, the bankruptcy payouts, the income tax bill, and the losses we suffered from the city forcing us to remove our cracked swimming pool last summer. So I went first to watch the hail come down, fearing it would destroy my life. I noticed that it was coming down sporadically in the rain and it was only about marble-sized in our neighborhood. As soon as the ice bombs stopped banging on the roof, I went out into the early morning downpour in only bathrobe, pants, and shoes and checked on my poor little Ford Fiesta. I found the window-breaker under the bedroom window, but the tree and sporadic-ness of the stones had protected my car. No cracked windows there. No dings and divots either. My car was un-struck.
It would turn out that morning light revealed my wife’s car had been similarly defended by a different tree.
The flowers in the flower patch out where the pool used to be were just beginning to bloom before the storm. They not only survived the hail, but benefited from the much-needed rain.
So, as my daughter the Princess pointed out this morning, maybe the Greek goddess of bad luck and chaos has finally concluded that I have had enough bad luck for one lifetime… or maybe year… or month… or, goddess please, at least this week. I did also successfully ignore a phone scam about a fraud investigation involving my tax return. I did not contact Agent Paul Avery because my tax return has already been accepted and I have even made the first installment payment of the money I owe the IRS. What kind of idiot would I have to be to commit a fraud on my taxes that would make me pay over a thousand dollars extra on taxes? Besides, I had seen previous warnings of this particular scam in the news. Naughty Mr. Agent Avery has been quite the busy boy. I also know about at least four car accidents that I didn’t get into yesterday and today. One lady turned in front of me and almost hit me head on. Somehow I knew by looking at her that she was going to insanely do what she should not do in moderate traffic and I hit the break in time. Possibly not all luck is bad luck. And I am not Joe Btfsplk. At least, not today.
Catch a Falling Star 
The 13th Sense
I know that you are probably thinking, “What the heck are you thinking, Mickey? There are really only five senses!”
And I am probably thinking, (ignoring the fact that I should know for certain what thinking is present at least in my own stupid head), “Oh, I think you are probably wrong about that,” considering carefully that I should only think this and not say it out loud, because people get mad when you suggest that you are smarter than they are.”
Besides the five senses we all claim of sight, hearing, touch, taste, and smell, there is also that one people often refer to as “the sixth sense”, and by that phrase they don’t necessarily mean that you “see dead people who don’t know they are dead”. Instead, that sense is kinda like a sense of intuition. A feeling that you simply know what is about to occur, or you know something about something that you could only really know if you have ESP… Or if you are Spiderman, it is your “Spider Sense”… wiggly lines radiating from your comic-book head.
And what about the sense of hot and cold? Or the sense that you can’t breathe the air in the same room with your cigar-smoking Republican uncle? You know, the one with all the toxic opinions you are forced to listen to too often? And there’s a sense of contentment. Or the sense of happiness. A sense of dread. There are all kinds of senses that your magnificent stupid-old brain constantly responds to that you really haven’t been counting.
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Of course, I am not writing about any of those today. I am writing about that old “Sense Number Thirteen”, the sense of certainty that every pessimist lives by, the sense that your natural daily bad luck won’t kill you today, but only because it would all be over and prevent more suffering tomorrow if it did.
Yes, it is Sense Number Thirteen that makes you prepare yourself for the worst, because you simply have the sense that it is destined to happen. I dread going to the mailbox. I know I will hate what I find there. This week I found a letter from the IRS, who has already accepted my 2017 return and the first installment of my tax payment, suggesting that they may reopen my case in order to determine if I owe them more money. And I got the hospital bill that I have been dreading because I cannot afford to pay it.
I dread walking the dog also because there are two pickup trucks, one black and one silver, that routinely roar through the 30-mile-an-hour neighborhood doing sixty or seventy. One of them is going to run over my dog while she has me on the leash, or maybe even run over one of neighbor Frank’s grandchildren. Anyway, we are preparing by organizing a neighborhood petition and complaining to the police. The Thirteenth Sense really screws with my life. But it forces me to prepare.
The hospital payment department told me that they are going to send paperwork that will help me pay the debt by forgiving part of it since I am already bankrupt over medical bills. I was taken pleasantly by surprise by that. I have so far successfully avoided thinking about the IRS. Those jack-booted shock troops apparently aren’t going to show up at my door until next week. And the police cruiser has been on our street twice already since I last talked to Frank, and they put out one of those speed limit signs that shows you in bright red lights how much over the speed limit you are going.
So, there’s the saving grace. A pessimist gets to be happier in the long run than the optimist. By preparing for the worst, the pessimist is ready for the bad thing to happen, and either deals with it as it comes, or is pleasantly surprised at an outcome devoid of extra suffering. A pessimist is never taken by surprise for the worse. I’m glad I have a 13th Sense. It helps me be a HAPPY stupid old pessimist.
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Filed under angry rant, commentary, feeling sorry for myself, goofy thoughts, humor, Paffooney, pessimism