To add to the list below of things I would like to do less of in 2008, or how about NOT AT ALL EVER:

run over animals.

I am not even kidding when I say that I almost had a fucking breakdown (which, for me, means that I almost cried) when I ran over an animal for the first time in my life on Thursday night.

It's a little known fact about me (mostly because it's not really interesting and also because it invites mocking) that I cannot kill things. Not spiders, not ants, nothing. I'm big on the "catch it under a drinking glass and let it go outside all while doing The Icky Dance" move.

So you can imagine that it bothered me (uh, understatement) that I ended the life of one these on Thursday night:

It was unavoidable. There was a car right behind me, and one in the lane next to me. I couldn't slam on the brakes, or swerve. I could only look this guy in the eyes, plead with him to head back to the sidewalk, and feel like shit.

I don't care that opossums are disease carriers that are generally despised because they occasionally look like this:

I don't care that an opossum really has no business on fucking 7th street, for crying out loud, which is not some sleepy little one-lane road through a park or something. I just kept thinking of that line in the Modest Mouse song Cowboy Dan: "I didn't move to the city/ The city moved to me/ And I want out desperately".

You're choking back a sob right now, right?

You're not?

How about now?

No? STILL?

Whatever.

I was on my way to the bar when I ran over that poor little thing, and when I arrived my friends were already there to cheer me up. (By "friends" I do not mean "Jack", "Johnny", and "Jim", but sure, some of them helped, too.)

When I explained to them why I was on the verge of tears, they were quick to jump in with "that's nothing, I hit a raccoon" and "oh, even worse, one time I hit a rabbit!" and "I hate opossums, they're really mean!". They then proceeded to make me feel even better with multiple rounds of shots (even the friend that had the court-mandated Alcoholics Anonymous meeting at 9 the next morning).

I love my friends.

The night ended spectacularly, and many, many things happened that made me feel much, much better. (One of which was receiving a late Christmas present: a pair of gloves with 'love' and 'hate' across the knuckles, given in vein of the Murder City Devils song "Left Hand, Right Hand'. Because, if you don't know, I'm kind of a fan.)

The night was almost enough to get the sound of running over a small, furry animal, and thus ending its life, out of my mind. (I'm counting on a donation to the National Opossum Society to fully do the trick. Yes, I am serious.)

***

Tonight: a storm, an art show, and a sleepover. If throwing money away doesn't make me feel any better (it usually does!), I fully expect each of things to do so.

Cheers. (And pour some out for the little guy, please.)