On Friday Becca, Molly and I rode our bikes out to Sauvies (the white trash Hamptons of Oregon) and had a great time. Beers, dried mangos and then sun. It was a great day. Biked basically 30 miles and a block away from my apartment I get hit by a fucking car?! Are you kidding me?

I was in the bike lane, the light turned green I continued my way straight when a truck turned right into me. I was hit my the side of his car and held on to his side mirror when I felt myself and my bike being pushed up the bed of his truck. He finally stops after me screaming repeatly ‘fucking-a, fucking-a’. I jump back from the truck, he rolls down his window and says,” Sweetheart, the light was green.”
I know the light was green. I had the rightofway. He didn’t have his blinker on. HE WAS THE ONE THAT HIT ME.
“Calm down, sweetheart” he says to me as I’m crying/yelling at him he could have killed me after he ADMITTED he didn’t look for any bikes when he turned. Naturally I scream at him, “Don’t call me sweetheart, I’m not your fucking sweetheart!”

I tried to get his information but he sped off. a hit and run?! classy. I’m fine other then a shoulder bruised and another person to mark on my throat punching list.

I walked my bike home and called my mom, who I haven’t spoken to in 3 weeks.

whokilled:

I think it’s telling that Ernest Hemingway killed himself after being sober for two months.