points of view

Why is it that family members can infuriate me more than anyone else?

I just came within inches of being hit by a speeding car. I was crossing the intersection of Cadman Plaza West and Tillary; it is a wide intersection and rather risky to cross, but I had the "walk sign" in my favor and was being vigilant of the large buses that make the wide right turn there. As I was almost across a car came flying AROUND the turning bus, headed straight for me. I could not jump away because the bus was there--the driver had also turned in front of me, although I had the right of way--and then the driver swerved sharply left to avoid hitting me. It was very close and my adrenalin was pumping. I turned to see a Nissan Maxima, dark glass, Florida plates go speeding on its way. My heart was pounding after the initial reflexive reaction. I have extremely fast reflexes, so fast that they attracted a whole slew of medical students when I was being treated in Chicago for a back injury.

So it occurred to me as I stood in line at the post office that had I been severely injured, or even killed--the car was going fast enough to do that--I have no will. Not will. Will as in "I heredo bequeath..." I called my brother the attorney to ask him, as I have a few times in the past, to write the will for me. He acted quite put out, and I recalled when he did my closing on this apartment ten years ago, and then sent me a bill. As I later told him, this would be like me charging him to play the piano at his wedding. I was furious, although I did not show him. I cheerfully said "bye" and hung up the phone.

* * * * *

I read many blogs. I don't have a particular order, and there are many that I don't follow closely. The Shower Room is one I check on regularly. The author writes of his life and his romantic exploits with style. However, reading it annoys me almost always. I dislike banalities and platitudes:

I've said before that the best days of my life are ahead of me and I look forward to living it.

It's funny how I see it now. I'm living it, the best days of my life; and everyday it only get (sic) better.

Gag me.

What does this mean? Does it mean that every day will be the best day of one's life? Or that one day he can look back on the days he describes as the best? Surely that would breed a kind of sadness. I have always said that I don't want to look back on any part of my past as "the best days of my life" because that implies such a bleak future. But the thing that I find so depressing about such platitudes is that it reflects a kind of shallow thinking, a willful optimism of the type that causes blindness.