Have you ever woken up bleary-eyed and blah, wondering what on earth you’re going to blog about for the day? Have you ever secretly wished—prayed, even—that something blog-worthy might come your way, so that you’ll have material for a new post?

Well…don’t. I never do. Wishing and praying for blog fodder is like calling the IRS and asking to be audited—it is stupid.  It’s asking for trouble.  It’s inviting the Powers That Be to smite your Tamra Camry and send her to the shop indefinitely.

That said, I have had my share of uninspired mornings, but usually I just figure that if something interesting doesn’t come up during my day, I need to add more spice to my life.

Yesterday was one of those mornings. I woke up and went about my usual routine of school, school, and more school; near the end of my day, however, I hadn’t experienced anything blog-worthy whatsoever.

“Bummer,” I thought at the end of my last class, as I bundled up for the long trek back to Thor. “I was really expecting something interesting to happen today.”

I climbed up the 200 stairs, from the lowest basement floor of the university, to ground level where the truck was parked.  Outside, I pulled my toque [beanie] and hood tighter to my face in an effort to shield myself from the piercing wind.  I walked along the dimly-lit, snow-draped pathway, and cautiously remembered all the lessons I’d been taught in the self-defense classes of my teenage years.  University campuses are notorious for abductions and date rape—I’m no dummy—so every time I make the trek to the parking lot, I adopt the same wary posture.  Last night was no different: I clutched my keys in my right hand like claws, at the ready to stab any approaching rapist who might try to attack me from behind.  Grasped in my left hand was my phone, open and poised to dial 911 at the slightest hint of an abductor.

It’s like I said—I’m no dummy.  If you fail to plan, you plan to get mauled.  Image from here.

Adding to my paranoia was the fact that, with my beanie and coat’s hood pulled tight over my ears, I was pretty much deaf to any noise coming from behind me.  Nevertheless, I wasn’t about to subject my earlobes to the sub-freezing windchill; I simply vowed to be extra-cautious.

However, several minutes into my journey, and after multiple glances behind me to make sure no creepy miscreants were lurking, I gradually lowered my guard [something I rarely do].  After all, it had been a long day, the campus was deserted, and I’d never before encountered any problems on this particular route back to the parking lot.  With only one more length of sidewalk to traverse before reaching the sanctuary of Thor, and no apparent danger looming “just around the corner,” I felt my shoulders relax.  In other words…I slacked off.

My mind wandered throughout the day’s events, pondering the texts I’d read lately, and wondering if all this university stuff would ever pay off.  I contemplated topics for my blog, delighted in recalling a friend’s recent joy, and basically let down my mental hair.

Suddenly [as these things always happen suddenly], I heard footsteps—the quick, staccato sound of someone running—approach me from behind.  I snapped back to the present, wrist-rocketted my head around with the speed of lightening, and drew my only weapon—the claw-like key I was still gripping in my right hand.  My attacker was right on my tail, and I gave what I hoped sounded like a menacing roar [but more likely came out as a terrified yelp].

“STOP!” I hollered, with all the authority I could muster [because no rapist ever expects to be met with authority, and that’s the first chance a woman has to catch her assailant by surprise].

By this time, the jogger was already a stride in past me.  He stopped dead in his tracks, looked back at me questioningly, and waited for me to explain why I demanded that he stop running.

I was face to face with…

…a total dweeb.  A total dweeb with thick-framed glasses, who was obviously not trying to kill me, but merely running toward the parking lot [presumably to escape the cold].

Immediately, I realised my paranoid miscalculation, but it was too late to save face—I was already in the motion of rendering him blind and huevo-less.

“I thought you were attacking me!” I exclaimed to the jogging nerd, who had been looking confused ever since he saw me whip my head around in preparation of a knock-down, drag-out brawl.

“What?” he asked, confounded, “Are you serious?”

“Quite.  See?  I was ready to stab you with my keys!”  I held up my hand for proof, and the nerdy jogger laughed.

“I’m really sorry!  I just figured since it’s so cold, I might as well run to my car and get it over with, y’know?  But I can see how that would have scared you!  I apologise!”  So not only did he bear a striking resemblance to Bill Gates in his 20s, but he was a gentleman, too.  Nice guy, that  attacker of mine.

“Well,” I sighed, relieved, “that’s okay.  Carry on, then.  I’m sorry I almost killed you.”

“No, I’m sorry I almost killed you,” he laughed, and jogged along his merry way.

I chuckled all the way to Thor’s warm embrace, and am chuckling now, hours later, as I type this in the safety of my bed.  I’m so glad I didn’t get assaulted today.

Life.  Always an adventure.

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