Finally got over the cold, mostly (I hope). So, I got up, didn’t call the boss and tell him to mark me sick and dragged my ass to work.
On my cold, cold, ride in I was felling lucky, given that I found a relatively open stretch of lane that didn’t require me to split it with cars.
So. There I was blithely thinking about other things at sixty five miles per hour, when the large Ram pick-up truck beside me decided to both: a) change lanes into my lane and, b) fail to signal the movement in any fucking way.
I banked to the right and cracked the throttle completely open. It wasn’t enough. I actually had to turn my shoulders sideways to avoid contact with fool. As it was, I felt the shape of the wind change as the prow of the man killing machine swept close enough to strike me. My heart rate went from pleasantly low to dangerously high in second, the organ itself riding up into the back of my throat and squirting copper into my mouth like an adrenaline-induced power-wedgie.
The driver then honked at me.
I mean, I see their point. Look, I was in my lane and minding my own business. Clearly I am a crazed moron; daring, frivolously unconcerned, and completely careless of my life.