All after the big book hunt.

For the second time in two weeks, I found myself last night on the side of a major Minnesota interstate with the cherries of a cop flashing behind me.

Oh yes, friends, it never ends.

I've done (nor did) nothing wrong. I was driving home to my parents' house, from work (!), along I-94. And all of a sudden, a police officer (an arch nemesis) who was going East crossed in a U-turn to go West. I was in the fast lane, not speeding, and he was driving next to me on the shoulder, freaking me out. I mean, he'd turned so fast that I was certain he didn't see me and was going to cut in front of me to do whatever he was doing. Was he catching a speeder? Reporting to an accident? Trying to look important?

And because I was scared, I slowed down, to let him get in front of me. I didn't slow down too quickly--didn't slam on the breaks--but apparently it was a quick enough slow-en-ing that the lady behind me slammed into the back of the Intrepid. The Intrepid, who last year was slammed-into-the-back-of, whose driver's side mirror was hit a couple of weeks ago while I was in a coffee shop, who sped down I-35W a couple of weeks ago to get a ticket.

I wasn't expecting to be hit. I heard the familiar smash (or is it crunch?) of car on car. I sighed. That's all. Just a soft sigh. I was still in front of the cop, so I pulled over. I was shaking a bit, and my neck sort of hurt, but it wasn't that bad. It just felt like the last time I was rear-ended. And the cop got out, I rolled down my window, and in accusatory tone he asked: What are you doing?

And I said: excuse me? I was just hit! I was just in an accident!

And he said: Really, oh man, I'm sorry, I didn't see any of that. Then he looked behind his car to see that the other person in the accident had pulled up behind his car. I asked to get out and look at the damage.

He said, oh, wow, it looks like she put a hole in there.

I explained that was an old hole. Otherwise, there was no damage. So Officer Pretty-Much-Caused-the-Accident talked to the lady who hit me for about 15 minutes, then came to tell me that she had no damage to her car and that he wasn't filing an accident report. Then he gave me his card and told me to call him if I found any damage or if I was sore in the neck tomorrow. I drove away, a little sore, but I assumed it'd be fine.

And today I was fine, although just shaken. Like what happens after any accident. I'd talked to the Good Doctor, who is at a seminar in Phoenix, on the phone last night. He seemed to be freaked out. He said, things keep happening to you. What the hell. You need to stop driving. These are signs. You're going to get in a really bad accident.

I'd have been mad at him for saying it, but I sort of felt the same way. Somehow, I've been waiting for a bad accident to happen. I can't explain it. It's sort of sick. I imagine getting side-swiped by semis while driving 60, I imagine getting t-boned in intersections and the metal of my car twists. Like I'm out-of-body and watching myself get hurt from above, like those car insurance commercials where you don't expect it coming. I hope these images stop soon. Especially while I'm driving, because that just turns into a catch 22. Would it happen simply because I was thinking about it?

Um, am I going to die?

Because I finally got a job. It's a temporary Christmas job, and it's at Barnes & Noble, which I've decided isn't job-like at all. It's just hanging around a bookstore for 15 hours a week, which if I had money I'd do anyway. Nights and weekends while I work a more full-timeish job that I have with a temp agency client tomorrow. This possible temp job is not an exciting job, and to be honest, I'm not sure if it's a job I will enjoy, but it pays money and that's what I need. Especially while I pray that the eight jobs that I really want call me back. So: ideally, I work there for a couple of weeks, make money to pay bills, pay my parents back, pay, pay, pay. Then someone will call me and say: interview! And I will say: when and where! And then we'll meet when and where and they'll say: hired!

Yesterday was my first day of training at Barnes & Noble, and it went well. Except for the woman I trained with. I was hoping for, maybe, a sexy male English Grad, but I got Vivian the 50-year-old-smoker with linty gray pants. She was nice enough, but because she was older (as often happens when I am working with older persons who are on the same "level" as me) she began to act like she was training me. This went on for four hours while I became annoyed, yet quiet, yet flashing half-smiles at her when we made eye contact, as though I wasn't annoyed at all. When we did the "book hunt" activity--pretty self-explanatory, a means of learning the organization of the store--we worked together. We didn't have a choice.

I suggested we use the computer to search for some of the books. After all, it wasn't stated that we couldn't use the computer, and it seemed to be the best means of finding what we needed to find. Vivian was apprehensive: I don't know if we can do that! But we did look a couple of books up, then found them on the floor, then carried on with the activity. When the manager came to check up on how we were doing, Vivian asked: are we allowed to use the computer?

Manager said: Of course you can!

Vivian then nudges me in the arm, in front of the manager and says: told you so! Told you we could use them!

Um. Excuse me.

Thanks for making me look like a dick in front of the manager. Thanks a ton. All I could do was shrug and make a I-have-no-idea-what-she's-talking-about-face. I think the manager got it. But who does that?

Anyway, things are in the midst of change. Aren't they always? Is it November? Graywolf ended, so sadly, on Wednesday. I spent Halloween night (because the Good Doctor had food poisoning) watching my mom hand out Halloween candy to young kids who screamed: are you Travis' mom! At her. I played with Travis' trombone and told him he was making the biggest mistake in his ten years of life by considering quitting band. I took his trombone and taught him "Hot Cross Buns." I beat his version of Guitar Hero III on Easy. I found a motherfucking centipede in my room and considered turning the living room into my bedroom. I still feeling like bugs are crawling, crawling, plotting, crawling. I'm am constantly happy and constantly in a devastating depression all at once, worried about money, exicted about the holidays, feeling at home in Minneapolis and also feeling nowhere near.