"I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die…" went through my head as I sat in the tub while the scuba diver's battery powered legs flapped away. Suddenly no interest in scuba. Intently focused on footsteps approaching door. A Door opens -- shoulders involuntarily hunch up at the anticipation of being popped from behind. But I'm not popped. He puts the toilet seat down opposite the tub, sits and leans toward me -- Almost like he's begging.
"We live in a dangerous place," he says. "And today you were in a very dangerous part of where we live. We don't want you to get hurt.
Everything says I made it. No killing. No chewing out. Nothing. I'm home free. He leaves and I happily go back to the scuba diver. And so it became my protection. Not the scuba diver. Thinking the worse will happen. Think it, and it will NOT happen.
I'm not gonna pass 2nd grade.
I'm not gonna get a new bike.
We're not gonna go camping.
My parachute is not going to open.
She's pregnant.
I'm gonna get a DUI
Most of the time it worked. I still do it -- I still think I'm gonna die.
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