(no subject)
Fuck.
I can't sleep now.
I keep thinking about the idiocy with wich I instinctively handled my being robbed.
I was on a 150 lb. pedicab when I was assaulted.
Like a moron, as soon as the fuckers started sprinting away, I didn't grab the heavy gauge chain and padlock that I keep in the pedicab and run after them. I got back in the pedicab and pedaled uphill to see a distant car peel out onto seventh st. I didn't sprint on foot afterwards to get the license plate. I didn't fight back. I remember trying to get up several times while clumsily hitting the call button on my radio. I kept getting pushed and shoved back down.
Why didn't I use that chain for its secondary purpose and defend myself? I don't know. I'm really mild-mannered, slow to anger, always cursing myself for thinking bad about others I see on the street. I am the perfect victim. I hate being this helpless.
I filed a police report and talked to some officers, but never thought to borrow a cell phone to call anyone. I can't talk to anyone and can't forgive myself for letting this happen. My legs hurt so fucking bad from pulling fares around all night, and I have so much less now because of this brilliant idea to consider myself safe on a slow-moving clumsy tricycle.
I have no confidence in myself. I couldn't even remember that I'm a runner when it counted, or that being beaten down isn't so bad when the equivalent has happened so many times on a skateboard or a snowboard or bicycle.
I mean I could've gotten shot or stabbed had they had a gun or knife, but I don't think they did. I want a gun. I want a knife. I want to carve these words with a box-cutter into their bellies and make them know that I am nothing less than a person and should be treated with respect.
Fuck.
I just want to sleep and wake up and have everything made right.
So what now, Charlotte?
Who can help me.
Not even the bank will let you report a stolen credit card online. I am not comforted whatsoever by anything available to me in this house. With whom can I report my stolen confidence face to face. Who has been through this and can tell me that it's okay to still think the best of strangers.
I don't know what comes next.
Whether it's typing here until I fall asleep, or realizing that my problems don't weigh enough in the universe to find consolation, I don't know.
Whatever happens I'll delete these posts once I'm happy I'm not dead and resolve to never whine again when real tradgedy is rampant. Like AIDS and child abuse and the people who lost so much of their homes to this week's flooding.
I can't sleep now.
I keep thinking about the idiocy with wich I instinctively handled my being robbed.
I was on a 150 lb. pedicab when I was assaulted.
Like a moron, as soon as the fuckers started sprinting away, I didn't grab the heavy gauge chain and padlock that I keep in the pedicab and run after them. I got back in the pedicab and pedaled uphill to see a distant car peel out onto seventh st. I didn't sprint on foot afterwards to get the license plate. I didn't fight back. I remember trying to get up several times while clumsily hitting the call button on my radio. I kept getting pushed and shoved back down.
Why didn't I use that chain for its secondary purpose and defend myself? I don't know. I'm really mild-mannered, slow to anger, always cursing myself for thinking bad about others I see on the street. I am the perfect victim. I hate being this helpless.
I filed a police report and talked to some officers, but never thought to borrow a cell phone to call anyone. I can't talk to anyone and can't forgive myself for letting this happen. My legs hurt so fucking bad from pulling fares around all night, and I have so much less now because of this brilliant idea to consider myself safe on a slow-moving clumsy tricycle.
I have no confidence in myself. I couldn't even remember that I'm a runner when it counted, or that being beaten down isn't so bad when the equivalent has happened so many times on a skateboard or a snowboard or bicycle.
I mean I could've gotten shot or stabbed had they had a gun or knife, but I don't think they did. I want a gun. I want a knife. I want to carve these words with a box-cutter into their bellies and make them know that I am nothing less than a person and should be treated with respect.
Fuck.
I just want to sleep and wake up and have everything made right.
So what now, Charlotte?
Who can help me.
Not even the bank will let you report a stolen credit card online. I am not comforted whatsoever by anything available to me in this house. With whom can I report my stolen confidence face to face. Who has been through this and can tell me that it's okay to still think the best of strangers.
I don't know what comes next.
Whether it's typing here until I fall asleep, or realizing that my problems don't weigh enough in the universe to find consolation, I don't know.
Whatever happens I'll delete these posts once I'm happy I'm not dead and resolve to never whine again when real tradgedy is rampant. Like AIDS and child abuse and the people who lost so much of their homes to this week's flooding.