Wicked Bad Designed Day

(alternately titled: courtesy Doctor Donald Dossey who coined paraskevidekatriaphobia August thirteenth nineteen hundred and ninety nine forever etched in annals of my personal infamy as one still sending hair raising shivers down my spine which following unpleasant details occurred on a street that branched off kind of like fork tine adjacent to one named Woodbine. Prior to the following awful events that unfolded aforementioned day somewhat solemn and gray I did not consider myself unduly superstitious nor prone to bouts of triskaidekaphobia/ paraskevidekatriaphobia no how no way. Yet that particular Friday the thirteenth baptized me in the bloody waters of superstition unequivocally whence upon waking said particular morning the search for funereal garb found me burrowing into a small closet while bending on one knee, and nonchalantly rummaging for suitable article of clothing to wear (per the wake/ sitting shiva of William Zison the octogenarian father in law) an unbeknownst ill fate lurked just seconds away ready to captcha an innocent prey as any unseen observer and/or pet would agree. Hands rifled and rustled thru various and sundry miscellaneous items in one or another box mostly clothing and other apparel draped in coat hangers plus a precariously perched heavy tin of yarn heavy as rocks began to teeter from top ledge, than made a slow inexorable descent in direct path of thy crown containing valued mental stocks. The topmost part of thine skull felt impact of sharp metallic rim that left an indentation in soft part of scalp – more’n an abrasive skim and bent circular shape of contrivance filled to the hilt one law of physics pertaining to falling object (taught to me) acquires greater mass accelerating with velocity and vim. Upon reflexively yet tentatively touching raw sore spot fingertips revealed presence of warm liquid soon coagulating into a pulpy gordian knot from sharp lipped impact registering nausea and vertigo quite a lot hence sewing crafts managed to stitch a tattooed laceration forming a bloody clot. Body writhed with physical torment as if being only partially alive whereby waves of blacking or passing out found me swooning ready to take a swan dive nonetheless from Schwenksville to Penn Valley, I did (by divine grace) safely drive whence family members and relatives once destination reached, the motley crue began organized car pool arrangements per heading off to the cemetery, which caravan formation similar to a human bee hive, yours truly declined to go communicating persistent distress from mishap I bowed wowed out, stayed home and kept company with a dog (purportedly man’s best friend) (said pet belonging to a friend of eldest sister in law), whose open palmed overtures of mine did not jive. An impulse found fingers reaching out to stroke this unfamiliar animal supposedly man’s best friend only to find sharp teeth from canine jaw clamped down hard on hand which second bodily injury, I did immediately tend while bolts of white hot pain shot thru lower extremity of palm radiated upward through forearm into shoulder did wend.