Searching for a four leaf clover

I would not call myself superstitious. I wouldn't call myself that, but I carry many odd and contrary beliefs and actions, so much so that I should just cowboy up and admit it.

I throw spilt salt over my left shoulder.
But I revel in walking under ladders and Friday the 13ths.
I always leave a swallow of my drink for Dionysus.
But I grudgingly love the black cat that constantly crosses my path at home.
I believe in the spiritually cleansing properties of sage and sea salt.
But I open umbrellas in the house.

And I think bad things come in threes.

1. Last Monday Indy had a small but traumatizing car accident (traumatizing to our wallets . . . and to the pristine condition of his ridiculously bright yellow car).

2. Friday the Nibblet had a mysterious allergic reaction to something that has lead to special food arrangements, constant back-and-forth with the daycare, expensive specialist doctors, and unending butterflies in my belly (which is large to enough to house several colonies of butterflies).

so that leaves #3, and the third member of the household, which coincidentally is . . . me.

I am absurdly paranoid. I was awake half the night with horrendous fantasies of household accidents, brain aneurysms, broken bones, blue screens of death, and pregnancy.

I'd like to count the fact that my phone died (stupidly and through no fault of my own), but it seems too simple. Even though it led to an epic battle with My Network, but after six days without it, losing all my phone numbers and photos, it ended with a free phone. Of course, I'm now tied to the damned thing again. Still, it happened almost two weeks ago. I figure I have 12 hours left before SOMETHING happens, so . . .

I am currently accepting donations of four leaf clovers, those little squishy ball things you can squeeze (um, not those ones, the other ones), prayers to any and all gods (although perhaps not The Lady), and all good wishes.

Please, no C.O.D.