My own car attacked me tonight. I'm parked on a slope, and when I went to get something out of the trunk, the sharp edge of the trunk lid suddenly slammed down and whacked me along the hairline of my forehead. I have a bit of a gash, and it hurts like the dickens.

But what's odd is that after the initial sharp vibrating pain, and the hour with the ice cubes on the head, and the feeling life is one bungled mishap after another, I feel rather happy. You know, like when you were a kid and skinned your knee outdoors, and then it's nighttime, and the bit of pain seems to be a pleasant reminder that you lived today. Doesn't make sense, does it. Like endorphins are released perhaps to counteract the hurt, but also to reward having ventured outward.

I try to be brave like a kid walking a few new blocks past the familiar boundaries of the street where he lives, or knocking in the dark on a stranger's door for trick or treat.