Hit me one more time.

 

Yesterday morning, as I rushed to work, in my frantic “35-mile-commute-equals-a-lifetime-in-L.A.” routine, I was happily pleased to note that I was a bit ahead of schedule. Running ahead of schedule is not a commonality when taking public transportation in this town, or when taking any method of transportation that involves this grand shithole’s transportation infrastructure. I was happy.

 

As I walked to work from the train station, I mulled over this rare auspiciousness.

 

“If I play my cards right, I might be able to leave a little early,” I thought to myself as I walked to work from the train station.

 

If.

 

I thought there was something awfully presumptuous about such an implied belief structure.

 

If I played my cards right.

 

How about if the cards played me right?
Isn’t that how life is, the true arrow of fate?

 

We don’t really play the cards, do we? We pretend we do because to relinquish all control is a scary feat, indeed, especially to us modern dwellers of the 21st Century who have been so conditioned through the dazzling offerings of science and technology to believe we have a modicum of say in our lives. Ha!

 

The cards play you.  If you insist in this assumption that you have a say in the card game’s outcome, be my guest.  Hit me one more time.