This part is only half the battle.
The part where I very carefully articulate my feelings toward a relatively sensitive subject so as not to offend the powers that be for fear of all my hard work ending up lost somewhere in cyberspace.
It’s happened before – more than once. Causing meltdowns now acting as beads on a string of crappy incidents whose circumstances dashed any chance of coincidence years ago.
Which is why I can’t celebrate this completed publish. Not yet, anyway.
Because the other half of the battle is significantly more difficult than very carefully typing a few hundred words about these powers that be. The powers that I can’t bring myself to speak ill of, despite their propensity to show me no mercy.
The powers that know they have the upper hand.
We all have our “things”. Truth be told, I probably have too many.
If I have to set an alarm, it must be a quarter-hour. 6:15, 8:30, 5:45… never anything in between. Maybe I don’t consider any other time a real time?
If I’m talking to a loved one as they’re driving or getting ready to drive, I have to ask that they drive safely. I’m thoroughly convinced that the one time I don’t, there will be an accident.
If I’m snacking on chips, crackers, M&Ms or anything “countable”, I absolutely must consume an even number. That’s just OCD.
And I absolutely, positively cannot and WILL NOT push my luck on Friday the 13th.
No unnecessary driving. No big purchases. No overly important meetings. No getting drunk, playing with fire, using large knives, hanging around construction sites.
Because you know I love doing all of those things every other day of the year.
But not on those fateful Fridays. Not when I’m dealing with acute paraskevidekatriaphobia – a fear of Friday the 13th.
Roll your eyes all you want. You wouldn’t be the first. At this point, I’m used to it. Officially exhausted in my efforts to convince others to take the same precautions.
But I’ve had too many unlucky Fridays with that specific date to take any chances.
- A death in the family
- The aforementioned project lost to cyberspace
- A car accident
- A flat tire
- A failed exam (devastating at the time, trust me)
- The worst interview in the history of interviews
- Food poisoning, of course
- And a handful of other trivial inconveniences that I can’t help but blame on this stupid superstition.
That’s why this post is only half the battle. Hitting Publish and praying it will magically find its way to the URL under which its meant to live, without any glitch getting in the way.
The other half – the more difficult half – is tomorrow. Getting through the day incident-free. Praying my loved ones do the same, no matter how silly they consider my fussing.
And hoping with every ounce of hope I have left that talking about all this garbage hasn’t doomed me.
Title Credit: Daniel Powter