A Different Kind of Luck

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Before I begin this article, I would like to begin with the following statement: MILLIONS OF PEOPLE WILL BE BORN, LIVE OUT THEIR LIVES, AND DIE WITHOUT EVER, EVER, EVER READING THIS SENTENCE. I thought it would set an appropriate mood. And while we're on the topic of setting an appropriate mood, you should stick a picture of your dearest friends in to your underpants while reading this article. If you don't, you won't get the full artistic message. Now, on with the article at hand!!

A Different Kind of Luck: A True Story[edit | edit source]

Today, I was pulling weeds. Weeds are plants that are deemed unnacceptable, and must die for growing in the wrong place.

I had been doing it for quite some time. So long, in fact, that it had become a mindless, mechanical action. Keep that in mind, it's important.

Now then.

I was pulling and pulling when my eye caught something. A clover. With four leaves.

But I had settled in so much to the mechanical movement of pulling weeds (guess where this is going!) that I ripped the four leaved clover out of the ground, shredding it in the process, and tossing it off in to the wind.


I didn't fully register that it had been a four-leaved clover until I'd already killed it.

It was an awfully complex situation for such a small plant.

Why is it that we don't notice these things until we kill them?

I briefly reassured myself by remembering that there was yet another four-leaved clover pressed safely in my possession. I couldn't remember how I'd found it, but I had it nonetheless.

This comforted me briefly, until I realized that the pressed clover was also DEAD.

A different kind of luck.