I want to stay alive

I was almost hit by a car.

Walking down College Ave. into Davis: I was on the left-hand sidewalk, crossing one of those tiny little streets or driveways between Ciampa Manor and the T stop, and a car coming up behind me suddenly turned into it. Which meant into me. I had to jump, literally, with my backpack, in slush, or he would have smashed me head-on. I only realized it was happening because of the road sound, tires and rain-hiss; he was moving very fast, much faster than I would have thought safe for the area. He barely even slowed when he saw me. He did yell, "Sorry!" as though somehow that would make up for having almost killed me. He can't have not seen me. There was direct lighting; I could see his face through the windshield as I went by. I cleared the bumper by a very little space. I was thinking very distinctly, "If I slip on the ice when I land, if I miss my footing, I am going to fall backwards and this car is going to run over my head." If I'd stayed where I was, a substantial chunk of Ford engineering at thirty miles an hour would probably have broken at least one bone.

If I am feeling generous toward the driver, he was having trouble steering in the slush and the ice and would probably not have run over me by choice. I think the chances are better that he was a complete asshole. ("Sorry!"?) I think this is the closest I have ever been to a road accident as a pedestrian: I have had to hurry through crosswalks or stand back from trucks taking corners sharply, but I have never actually before thought in the moment that I might die. It was unnerving and I do not wish to repeat the experience, ever.

I went straight into the subway.

I am drinking tea and goat milk and honey now and trying to get my heart rate down.

That happened.