I am a lucky sonofabitch.
I have to be, in order to safely balance out the complete idiot that I also seem to be with alarming frequency.
My whole life.
My beloved scooter, the cherished Suzuki Burgman that gives me joy and a natural high on a daily basis, is slowly deteriorating into yet another crappy vehicle o' mine. This past week, I have been leaving the key in the ignition, accidentally, after struggling to open up the now-harder-to-open storage trunk, where I keep my gym bag and helmet, etc.
At home, that's okay. We live in a quiet, safe neighborhood, and the scooter stays in the garage overnight. Domestic Partner is not going to steal the keys out of the ignition. He hasn't even ridden on the back of my scooter once in the three years that I've had it.
But this morning, after ninety minutes inside Rosemead Bally's, I walked back to the parking lot and noticed that my keys were still hanging out of the ignition. I feel lucky enough that the scooter didn't get stolen, but I feel even luckier that someone didn't just randomly yank the key set away, just for kicks.
Someone is watching over me.
I have been lucky my whole life. Even when bad things have happened, they have always turned out okay, eventually. My father used to say that I could fall flat on my face into the mud and dirt, and come up smelling like a rose. And ML, the Disneyland roommate-with-a-heart-of-gold, always used to say "God watches over babies and fools." The fact that I wasn't the former was implied.
Yes, I am damn lucky! And I try not to take it for granted, most of the time. I am grateful for my luck, and it actually makes me ask God to help me be nice to people, especially when I don't feel like it.
. . . Peter's plastic bubble world.