A Different Kind of Luck
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.
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.