Daily stuggle with death

I can't understand the sheer vindictiveness and malicious cunning that has gone into urban planning in small town America (this display of cowardice in not naming the specific city that is the raison d'etre of this garbled spewing of bile is a result of a recent addition of a fear of being sued to my already vast canvas of perscution mania. I am inclined to assume that this latest acquisition is more of a rubbing off from the society that has been thrust upon me rather than actual experiances). While I had heard storied of how walker-unfriendly the streets of the land of opportunity were, previous experiance and, as it turned out a misplaced faith in students being a different species of the human race, had led me to believe that University towns would be exempt from this spite. This however, is not the case. The people who drive here appear to think that the very act of seeing some poor soul walking to the grocery store or the laundromat across the street, is a personal affront to the dignity of the person behind the wheel and an unbearable slight to the aesthetic integrity of the patched and pot-holed roads. Never before has the simple act of crossing a street been more fraught with peril, and this coming from someone who has crossed the streets of Hyderabad with scarcely a scratch and with a sister who, very considerately uses one's body as a battering ram against the oncoming traffic.
Woe betide those unfortunate mortals who decide to their bit for the environment and cycle to... wherever (bleedin' heart liberals!) or those young mothers who bravely strap their precious cherubs into prams and wheel them out for a bit of sunshine. There is no seperate bike path of course, and one is forced to use the main road. Why not use the sidewalk/pavement you say? Because, dear child, the sidewalks don't have ramps on both sides. This is truly where the vindictiveness is laid bare. You get on the sidewalk at one end, praising the kindness of the civic authorities who have been considerate enough to lay a sidewalk, "proceed along" the stretch of the road as cars zip by you and drivers stare evilly at you for about a quarter of mile and then realise that the pavement doesn't have a ramp built at the other end! Surely, you think to yourself, this must be an oversight. They probably was a drafting error on the blue print. You make mental note to avoid this particular sidewalk in the future as you back track and start again. After dodging death as you are walking/cycling/wheeling on the road, you find yourself approaching another sidewalk and breathe a sigh of relief as a blue mustang misses you by a hair's breadth. You clamber onto the pavement and resist the urge to kiss it. After a brief examination of your limbs you set off again, your leg a bloody mess and three vertebrae dislocated. A sinking feeling starts making itself felt as you approach the intersection. There is no ramp! Maybe there was mistake in the blueprint of this particular street. Your mind is now working overtime devising alternate routes to the library and work. Also is helps to be distracted as cars are gunning for you and horns are blaring. The trick is to convince yourself that you are not being singled out and the murderers driving the cars are probably lovely people when not behind the wheel and are kind to animals. If by mischance you surrender this belief, then you are doomed to spend the rest of your life in a solitary, pleasant room with people in white coats being obnoxiously cheerful around you.
As the days progress and the medical bills mount, you realise that this one-ended ramp phenomenon is all pervasive. They entice you cunningly onto the pavement and then you realise that there is no way to get off at the other end and are forced to battle the traffic who exhibits a droit de signeur attitude towards the road and views you as a malicious trespasser who must be shown up for the sheer effrontery of being on the same road as them, especially as there is perfectly servicable sidewalk built for the express purpose of hiding their miserable carcasses from the view of the God-fearing public.

The story so far

This blog is quite an uncharecteristic move on my part. I haven't really been in touch with anybody, family or friends, these past few months. It had got so bad that at one point my aunt was considering sending the police to check up on me. My mother and sister refused to speak to me when I did finally call them. Fortunately things are slightly better now, although the most of my friends are convinced that I've pulled a Rip van Winkel and have not woken up in about three months. So many bridges to mend...
I don't actually have a good reason for what I did. I don't even think I have a very bad reason for it. I just decided that, one day, I would stop making an effort to talk to people. This led to actually avoiding phone calls, emails and such like.
I am quite despicable.

The First One

So, this is my second attempt at maintaining a web journal. My sister started a new one recently and in a weak moment I decided to be tempted into opening an account for myself. The capitals in the title are not excessive as there is a very likely possibilty that it may be The Only One; if it is going to be short lived, the poor blog can at least boast a grand title. After all, there is something to be said for living in style.