What a sick week this has been. A couple of weeks ago, one of my coworkers, Jim, had a serious heart attack on the way home from the field. I wasn't there, but accounts relayed to me from people who did see him said that he basically passed out and turned blue. They gave him CPR until the EMT's got there. They almost gave up on him a couple of times before they got a marginal pulse.
Then last Thursday, the first day on another road trip, he died. Quite a kick in the nuts. He was only about 55 and as spry as hell. He was cool and had a plan about what he wanted to do with the rest of his life (of course, that plan did extend beyond last week). He had a chick in Maryland who he was planning on seeing for Thanksgiving and basically had more life left in him than most people I know who are half his age. Now he's dead.
Then I get back from a road trip nad I find out that Roger, my esteemed tarantula, has also died from unknown causes.
It seems that important, earth-shaking shit only happens when I'm gone for the week. My friend's afore-mentioned baby was born and died while I was on roadtrips. Jim dies. My tarantula dies. My life revolves around whether or not I'm here. With my luck, I'll win the lottery and get a message on my machine telling me that the deadline to collect was the day before I got home.
Maybe I should post warnings as to when I'll be going on another road trip. I suspect that life insurance sales will skyrocket.