Hit by a Truck

I got hit by a truck today.

I got up early to run before work and before it was too humid and hot.  The residential streets were quiet, intermittently and sparsely populated by a car or a fellow exerciser this morning.  I was about a half mile from home and completing my run, running straight and passing a street entry when a large Ford truck turned right into me.  I put my hands up to block the car as it plowed into me, and I remember thinking that it was going to stop, that it had to stop because that's what cars do when there are people in front of them, but it didn't stop and it him me.

I laid on the ground for a few minutes, in shock.  The driver got out of the truck and came to me asking me questions, like if I was ok, but I couldn't say anything.  I couldn't really comprehend what had just happened so I just lie there.  The man came behind me and put his arms under my arms to lift me up and offered to drive me home, but I declined.  I was in total shock and I just wanted to get home.  I cried walking to my home, my ankle hurting and random cuts bleeding.  I called my mom and my sister took me to the hospital. 

I only have a sprained ankle and cuts and bruises.  I was really, really lucky.  The driver wasn't driving too fast.  I still can't believe, even as I type this, that I was hit by a truck at around 6:30 this morning.  And I'm ok.  Those last two sentences seem so out of place and unfamiliar.  As if I should be writing a fictional story and not what really happened.

I guess I could get all philosophical or metaphysical, contemplative in some manner at least, but I don't really want to think and analyze.  I'm good with just being here, right now, in this space.