Astrology of the MVP

Tom Brady was destined to be a Star. It was written in the stars. The planets, actually. The planetary alignment in his birth chart shows a Star pattern. Some people call it a pentagram, but that carries negative connotations.

A simple search shows Tom Brady was born August 3, 1977 at 11:48am in San Mateo, California. I love that the time is disclosed because that gives us the full chart with Ascendant and houses.

The Star has his Sun at the pinnacle, 11° Leo in the 10th house. The other points of the Star form a rectangle: Neptune at 13° Sagittarius opposite Mars at 11° Gemini. Pluto at 11° Libra opposite Moon at 6° Aries. Neptune and Pluto are sextile, as are Moon and Mars. Mars and Pluto sextile Sun. Moon and Neptune form a Grand Trine with his Sun completing the Star. 

After such an unreal game, I was compelled to check the transits for when the Super Bowl was scheduled to begin.

The first thing that grabs my attention was that the moon is at 11°11 Gemini. Numerology is a whole different subject, I just thought it was cool to add that bit for effect.

But really though, it is definitely a big deal that we see Mars at 6° Aries and Moon at 11° Gemini. If we apply the transits to Tom’s chart we see they are mutually receptive. Transiting Mars on his Moon and transiting Moon on his Mars. Both are pretty exact, and take place in his beautiful Star chart. Also we see transiting Sun is about exactly trine to his North Node/Ascendant. Shining the light on his destiny this magical night. 

Living Out Loud

I can be bold. Obnoxious even, when it comes to sports especially. I toe the line of playful banter, or not so playful. I openly obsess over Mexico. I gush over my kitties and my beautiful home. But I often hold back, as well.

All my life I have felt so insecure. They say you can’t miss what you never had, but there is nothing that could replace Daddy’s love. I’ve never felt that, so I’ve often felt out of place in the world. Ashamed and afraid. Even at the age of 39.

The answer to life’s problems is definitely not at the bottom of any bottle. I’ve searched many. It has been 22 weeks now since my last binge.

Every one of us is different, and we need to do what is best for ourselves. I have chosen to do this recovery by myself. As in, without rehab or therapy of any kind. I have ‘graduated’ from one program already, but obviously it did not do what I really needed to change at the time. I have to say it did give me some tools and awareness to ultimately face this, fourteen years later. I have my own program.

My main trigger to relapse is anxiety. I am aware of that. I am working to eliminate or at least manage the anxiety so it doesn’t consume me. I researched vitamins and supplements, for both anxiety and to hopefully rebuild my poor liver. I have been faithful in this regime for almost five months now. Writing is also helping. I have hobbies like astrology, sports, and swimming.

My problem with traditional therapy is that I cannot allow myself to connect easily. Counselors have actually given up on me. I just cannot fully trust someone when I was forsaken before I was ever born. I am married to the most wonderfully supportive, understanding man. I have come a long way in my relationship with him in my self-worth department but maybe I still kind of hold back in some ways. I have friends and close friends. Different people see different sides or layers of me.

I have to be accountable in my recovery. Accountability was a HUGE deal in my program. Personal accountability. “I language.” That aspect of the classes has helped me tremendously in life. I made it part of who I am and have always carried it with me. Accountability is a big part of AA or other programs as well. I am accountable to my husband and my best friend, who is also fighting this battle 400 miles away.

Social media has really come into life since I was in that program, and it truly could be the most helpful tool in my recovery. Being able to connect, instantly, around the world. It is that connection I crave, that I need. I was never Daddy’s girl, though my husband does spoil me entirely now. I stay home these days. I am focusing on my recovery. My husband works, but is not always immediately accessible when anxiety strikes. My close friends also have jobs, families, or obligations.

Feeling connection helps me feel purpose. As a fatherless daughter I struggle with that often. Like the quote attributed to John Lennon, when I grow up I just want to be happy. I love when I make people laugh. Friends have noted that is what they remember about me. I even got the crying/laughing emoji as a Christmas present. I post things all day just trying to laugh my day away.

I find myself posting and writing a lot about my recovery. I find that it is actually the most effective form of accountability for me. Sure I am accountable to my people, but I have also failed them on many occasions before. Since I have brought my recovery to social media, it has changed my game entirely. If I fail now it will be on a world stage. I don’t know if my Leo ego could allow it.

So for that, I will not apologize. I will live my recovery loud and proud. I will no longer apologize for being myself out of fear of what someone may think. I’m almost 40 and I’ve lived this long without Daddy’s approval. My inner rebel is quite amused.

Yes, You Really Can.

It has taken some time to process this, but yes you can. You really can do whatever you put your mind to.

I taught myself Spanish. I’m not quite fully fluent, but I have no trouble with it at all. I wanted to be able to speak Spanish as long as I can remember. Much of my adult life I have worked in restaurants with some Spanish speaking people. It drove me nuts when non- speakers would say “I wish I could speak Spanish too.” Well guess what, yes you can. If you really want to you can teach yourself just like I did. Little by little for the last 20 years now. Practicing what I know and trying to learn more as I go. Reading as much as possible in Spanish helps a lot, too. My Spanish and my accent both are so good that natural Spanish speakers can’t believe I’m American. But I taught myself. You can too.

Astrology. I wanted to learn so I am learning. For the last five years I have read all I can. I joined some astrology groups on Facebook. I don’t post too much but I lurk and I learn. I know so much that people have come to me to teach a beginner class. People often ask me for insights on their charts. I don’t know it all, but little by little. Yes you can.

Drums. I’ve always been fascinated and want to play. I have taken every opportunity to learn. Watching music videos, listening to music intently through my headphones. Any opportunity to watch someone play live I studied them carefully. Sometimes I have sat at the set myself. Hopefully soon I will have my own drums in my basement, and I will prove again that yes, you can.

This brings me to my biggest challenge yet. Not drinking alcohol. I had to quit drinking about 6 months ago for medical reasons. Was it hard? Oh yes. I had been leaning on the bottle for over 6 years since I had to move here. What do I do without my ‘best friend?’ I have cried a lot. I miss out on times with actual friends when I think I might be too tempted. Whatever I have to do I’m doing. People say that too, “I wish I could stop drinking.” Don’t tell me that. Because yes, you can. 

I may get snarky people who think I’m insensitive to the addiction, but I was labelled alcoholic 14 years ago. It became a monster for me in the last 7 years. But not anymore. I have over 5 months of not even a taste of alcohol now. I decided no more hangovers and no more IVs at the hospital. 

Like the saying goes, “I decided I didn’t want to feel like that anymore so I changed.” If you really want to, you can too. Si se puedes.

So Much Hate at Only Eight

I have always been fascinated by travel, and maps. I loved the atlas. I had US and world books both. I spent countless hours studying them. Geography was a strength in school, when I went. I was in a dream world much of my childhood because reality wasn’t always so nice to me. I had friends in my neighborhood, like so many kids do. I had to be like seven or eight years old this one day….

I was at the neighbor’s house. There were three girls, but this day only one was there. She was five I think. Her mom was white, and her dad Mexican. He was in and out of their lives for whatever reasons but he obviously was here for this.

The door was kicked in and the apartment was soon filled with cops. It was a drug raid. The four of us were handcuffed, face down in the living room. That’s right, seven year old me and five year old her, along with her parents. There were cops in each corner of the room with handguns drawn in our general direction. There was one cop who stood over Felipe with a shotgun barrel buried into his brainstem. Felipe would shout, “No hablo ingles. No hablo ingles!” To which the cop replied, “Bullshit, Felipe. We fucking know you can speak English!” And he would shove the barell a little harder. Unreal. I just kept thinking how I couldn’t believe this girl is watching this happen with her dad. 

Eventually the situation calmed. They had me in the girls’ bedroom separated to ask me whatever I knew, which really wasn’t anything. They asked about my family. It broke my heart when I couldn’t tell them anything about my own father. They let me go home. It seems like they didn’t find anything other than a kitchen scale, which didn’t make sense to me until I got older. But anyway.

I think it was the same year when I was by myself climbing a tree in my front yard. It was on the terrace, the strip of grass between sidewalk and street. I knew if we didn’t cut that grass or rake those leaves we would get in trouble with the city. I assumed it was my tree. A cop pulled up and stopped. He looked up at me and said, “You need to get down from there. That tree is city property. You need to get down from there right now. If I come by here again and see you up there I’m gonna arrest your parents.” 

Are you KIDDING me?!?!?! I was furious. I said nothing, but got down and went inside. Arrest my parents? Dude I have ONE parent, you ignorant fuck. And she was everything to me. How can you make my mom go to jail for MY actions? It made no sense to me.

That was the day I decided I want nothing to do with this country. I wanted to run away many times already in my young life, but this just affirmed it. It gave me an actual reason other than the general feeling I didn’t belong. A rebel with a cause. 

I am so smart and had great grades when I wanted to, but then I had Civics class. My teacher said day one if we participate in class and turn in assignments we would pass the class. Indeed. I passed with a D-. I refused to learn about a country I did not want to live in.

I did take opportunity to leave the country. I was gone five months. I learned a lot about myself. I also accepted that I had been so wrong for so long. America wasn’t quite so bad, after all. But, I don’t really want to have my own kids. God forbid they want to climb a tree or something.

 🎶 Orphaned to the Dope and Drinks 🎶

Who would think Pantera lyrics could inspire someone… 

My mother and father were stationed in the Navy together. A brief fling, but here I am. My mother returned to her hometown about six months or so pregnant. My father refused contact. He abandoned me while I was still in the womb.

They say mothers do the best they can at the time. I will never know, because I will likely never have children. My biggest reason is because I haven’t yet recovered from my own childhood. For as long as I can remember, I have always felt forsaken by my mother in a lot of ways, as well.

My mother chose to not put my father’s name on my birth certificate, so that limited her recourse in even getting medical records. All feelings aside, that is the worst part of this. Any time I go to the doctor for all my life I only have half my medical records. I don’t know what all ‘runs in the family.’

My mother is a twin. They were 23 when I was born. Young adults. My aunt was married with a daughter four years older than I. When I was first born we all lived at Grandma’s but soon after my aunt and uncle bought a house. The decision was made for us all to live together. My mom would stay home for the kids while my aunt and uncle worked. I had two more cousins join us, boys, one four years younger and the other 5+ years younger. So I am an only child of a single mom, but ultimately three adults and four children made up my childhood home. Crazy, and quite confusing.

I was tormented in my dreams as a small girl. I had a recurring dream, that my father came in a hot air balloon and took my mom away. Separation anxiety was a big deal. In first grade, my mom would stay after lunch and help with the reading class. She felt she needed to, and my teacher agreed, because otherwise I would leave at lunch. Skipping school for me started in first grade. I never actually felt important to my mom, until she lost custody of me. I often accompanied her to the grocery store and laundromat as a way to get alone time with her. Because otherwise I can really only think of one time in my whole life we have ever done mommy/daughter anything. 

My mom was always up front answering questions about my father. Her information was rather limited, and with a name like Stephen Hughes it makes my searches seem impossible. I do have one picture. I still have it, thank God. All the times I had to start over. Through a house fire and everything I still have the one and only picture of my father I ever saw.

She was the ‘neighborhood mom.’ Once someone cut his finger and needed stitches. It wasn’t his mom in the ER with him. His mom waited in the lobby and my mom was the one holding his (other) hand. I have a love/hate relationship with that. She has such a thing with kids. Its amazing, actually. But I hated it. Between the neighborhood kids and my cousins, I often wondered What about your own daughter? 

I could have quoted Slayer instead for a title. Innocence, withdrawn in fear. It is a line from the song Silent Scream. Whoever wrote that song had to have grown up without a daddy, too. Think of childhood. Words like innocence come to mind. I wanted to make friends at school. Sometimes it felt like I had some. Often times, however, I alienated myself. Withdrawn in fear. Other than swimming and baseball, I mostly isolated myself in my room. Alone with my imagination. Dreaming of a life somewhere far far away. With my music. The one constant of my whole life. I felt so different, and that nobody could possibly understand me. Anyone that tried I pushed away, again not wanting pity, or afraid they will also forsake me somehow. It seemed everyone I ever knew had their dad. Whether it was every other weekend or only in their memories.

Friends? I had some. I reconnected with my very first best friend last year. We of course talked about our Big Wheels and such, but he said he remembered my middle finger the most. Little four year old me flipping off the world saying “Fucking bitchessss!” Wow. So much angst at such a young age. I don’t even remember. I thought I remembered so much. He moved away, as did my other early BFF. I do have a couple neighborhood friends younger than me.

School was such a big deal for me. I am naturally very smart. Unfortunately I also had a mental block against learning, and it stems from not having my father. I was almost always teacher’s pet. I took it as pity. They talked about “my potential” and it just drove me nuts! Why bother excelling in school? My father doesn’t care, so why should anyone? I settled in as much as I could after first grade, but by 7th grade I had enough. 

The way the district was set up at the time, 6th grade was when you graduated elementary school. I missed that ceremony. Migraines already. Or maybe I just didn’t want to do it without my father. So on to 7th grade… seemingly without friends. A couple of my good friends in my class moved that summer. I had a complex, that those who did know me from elementary school would talk about me, the freak. I completely lost interest by October. I quit. My mom let me stay home, because she already knew I would just leave school anyways. 

No surprise, I was subject to court appearances and eventually probation and counseling. No big deal. Twice counselors refused me, saying talking to me is like talking to a brick wall. They can’t reach me. I quit again the next year too. My second year of 7th grade. I only made it through the first semester but they let me pass this time. My mom decided to enroll me in the local Christian school for 8th grade. I went all year and made honor roll. 

I was sick of the façade after just the one year. Combine that with ‘the wrong group’ and it is a recipe for disaster. I started smoking and listening to gangster rap, and having sex. I got myself kicked out of Christian school and re-enrolled into 9th grade back at the same public school, this time with some like-minded friends. We skipped school a lot. If nobody wanted to skip with me, I would just stay home. Sometimes we would get ourselves kicked out of 1st hour, to go to in-school suspension and cause a scene to be kicked out from there. Out of school suspension equals legal skipping was the logic. By December, an uncle introduced me to the joys of alcohol. He would sometimes pick up my friends and I and we would go drink all day. My mom knew, but again she let it happen because she knew I would rebel anyways. 

My probation officer asked the court to give me 20 days in jail to try to turn me around. The court gave me 10 days. She told me after this if I didn’t go to school for one month she would send me to a group home. I tried. I took it serious. Until 3rd hour, when I told a friend what was happening. Someone heard me, and laughed in my face. Done.

One week before my 16th birthday, I was indeed removed from my mom’s custody. I was placed in a girl’s group home the next town over. I entered 9th grade for the second time. Two years behind my original class. But at least nobody knew me. I had a couple friends and was consistently on the honor roll. I did theater and Student Council. After 10th grade, my guidance counselor said if I do these four credits home school over the summer, that would basically be my junior year, and I could graduate only one year behind. But then I turned 18 my first day of senior year. I knew if I acted up they would kick me out and I could be free. But I had no home to go to. My family lost my childhood home while I was gone. Seven years later I obtained my GED with extremely high honors, and very little effort. I am intellectually blessed, indeed.

It wasn’t until I heard that song by Slayer at age 20 that I realized there could be someone else out there like me. When I actually heard the words this guy was saying I had to stop the car. I was crying too hard. Tears of relief. I rewound the song and listened again. It is a twisted song to those who can’t understand. He talks about abortion, but that is how I felt about this. I felt I shouldn’t have been born. This song went a long ways to help me accept that I am here. I did attempt suicide when I was like 13, but obviously that failed. Since then I have never been suicidal. If 23 phenobarbital pills didn’t kill me, I must be here for something.

25 Years. That is the name of the song by Pantera I quoted for this blog title. I believe that guy had issues with his father too. Alcoholic. The full line goes orphaned to the dope and drinks, I learned my lessons well somehow from you. 

The Hypocrisy of the Mexican Government

A lot is being said about the United States border and immigration policies. Not much is said about the Mexican side of things. 

I was in Mexico for five months in 2002. Yeah that is 15 years ago now, but this story is still relevant. I left the US in attempt to live life in Mexico. With the way things were I naïvely believed I could just go get a job there. I quickly learned it is a whole different country.

I first had an unexpected, extended stay in Villahermosa. I made buddies with a bartender there. Nice guy, from Brazil. He was the first to tell me. This guy was living life in Mexico, working to make money to send home to his family in Brazil. He said if he were caught working there, he would be detained until he was deported. Wait a minute… Isn’t that contradicting how Mexico feels about the US policies?

My visa was strictly tourist. Not work. As such I had an issue getting a job once I got to Cancún. Most places wouldn’t hire me. Some places have ways to help getting the proper visa. I went to Wet & Wild, a waterpark on the beach. They even had swim with dolphins so think of all the people who work there. From counter to cleanup there are probably a lot. The woman liked me, it was obvious. She said, “I would LOVE to hire you, but the Mexican government says I can only have THIRTEEN foreigners working here at any given time.” Let that sink in.

I was able to find work in a nightclub, as a shot girl. Fun times, no doubt. One day my boss came to me and the others to collect our bottles and aprons for a bit. Immigration agents were coming or were already there. My boss got us drinks and asked us to chill like tourists til they cleared. 

Basically, the Mexican position is ‘if a Mexican can do the job, a Mexican will do the job.’ But then their government at the same time was printing maps of the US border areas and where water stations are to help the migrants coming here. Hmmmmm.

All Planets Direct

The phrase Mercury Retrograde has certainly gained a lot of traction in the mainstream as more people find their voice. The truth is all the planets have a retrograde period. Retrogrades happen as an illusion. Of course the planets don’t actually change direction. Sometimes they appear to, because of the speed of each planet, and ultimately Astrology is all about the vantage point from Earth.

Mercury Retrogrades happen multiple times a year because its orbit is so short. Venus and Mars are about every other year, being the planets closest to us. The farther out planets, however, spend up to half of every year in apparent retrograde motion. 

That’s what makes this time period special. When Mercury ended its last Retro on January 8th, it marked the beginning of about a month where all planets are in direct motion. Jupiter will begin it’s next Retro on February 6th.

When a planet is Retro, it is said to pull the energies within. Mercury helps us assess our communications. Venus, our relationships and what we take pleasures in. Each planet influences something in us.

All planets being direct suggests we should feel free to take our chances in life. The universe is supporting us in a big way right now. So let’s enjoy. 💚

Astrology is My Thing.

Hobbies are important in life, especially in recovery. Yes I have puzzle books and coloring books, but what consumes my time is astrology. 

I had a falling out with a friend about five years ago. It was then I began studying astrology, trying to make sense of things. Trying to make sense of myself. Everything I read about myself resonated. I then looked up my husband and other people close to me. It all makes sense to me! The more I read, the more I want to learn. I have come to believe that astrology is a gift, given to us to use as a way to help understand ourselves and others. Like a road map, for the soul.

They say to find your purpose in life, you must follow your passion. Not much makes me happier than helping people learn astrology, to learn about their charts and the basics to set them up for a lifetime of learning. 

My cousin had a baby last night. The first thing I did was look up the newborn’s natal chart. I then ran what’s called a synastry chart, to see how she might interact with her 4 year old cousin. It will be interesting to see how this plays out. It always is.

Dear Mexico, I Love You.

When I returned to my hometown after being in Mexico for five months, my best friend told me I had changed. I could feel that he did not mean that in a negative way, but still it intrigued me. He is right. Mexico did change me.

In my childhood, events happened which made me so jaded for someone so young. I developed a hatred for this country. I am very smart, but I barely passed my Civics class in high school. I was so committed to not learning about a country I had no interest in living in. I took opportunity at 24 to leave the country. I drove to Cancún. Not by myself, but this part of the story is about me. I was barely out of the country 24 hours and I realized how very wrong I have been. 

The federal highway system leaves much to be desired, for one thing. The one and only time I have ever been lost in my life was in Veracruz. I had missed the signs that would have kept me on the highway skirting town. Instead I was downtown Veracruz, with no clue even which way was south to get me back to highway 180. I saw some police. With my limited Spanish at the time, I was able to communicate that I am trying to get to 180. He knew even less English, so we agreed I would just follow him. He led me to the highway and pointed the direction I needed to go.

The upkeep of the roads was also lacking. Horrible potholes in some areas. And the pinches topes, speedbumps, in all the little towns. My poor transmission had it from all the shifting up on open highway and down for the towns. Luckily it held together until we got to Villahermosa, to a Ford dealership. Again with broken Spanish, I told the guys in the service department about the problem. They took it for a drive around the block. When they got back the car needed to be pushed to the bay because the transmission had fully given out. We stayed almost three weeks in Villahermosa, mostly waiting for parts from the United States. The warranty manager was back to work our first full day there. His English was actually some of the best from a non-native that I’ve ever heard. He kinda took us under his wing and made our stay fun.

Finally we made it to Cancún. We got an apartment and attempted to live life, but all of our start up money got ate up by our delay in Villahermosa. My job didn’t help much in low season. Lucky we had a temporary support in the US, and Western Union was easy. Our neighbor José said like so many people do, “if you need something, ask.” 

One day I nervously knocked on their door. José’s wife answered and said he was taking a nap. I asked if we can borrow 50 pesos. At the time that was about $5.00 USD. We needed more sandwich supplies. I never ate so much PB&J as I did in Mexico. About 45 minutes later, she came to our door. She had 50 more pesos for us. She told me José said 50 pesos was not sufficient, so take this other 50 pesos and don’t worry about paying us back. 

My job was at a nightclub, and I made some friends in the area. After work we would often gather for food and drinks and the sunrise. My friend Jorge had a wife and baby at home. He was out with myself and other friends, although he had only made $17 at his job. What got me isn’t that he was out, but that he wouldn’t let me help with the bill. He said they make so much in high season that it will be okay.

The everyday life in Mexico amazes me. They have such strong faith that they will be provided for in the future, so why not enjoy the moment now. I am still trying to grasp that concept and apply it to my life. Here in the United States we get caught up in our lives and maybe push others away. 

So yes, I have changed. For that I say thank you, Mexico. 💚

Left for Dead

I had lived in Cancún for four months. I have so much I could write. For now, this is what happened my last night there.

Christmas Eve 2002 

Mike and I had our tickets bought. The next night we were to board a car ferry in Puerto Morelos to return to the United States. Along with our friend Alfredo, we set out to live up our last night. We cruised down Zona Hotelera in our Mustang 5.0 as the sun set, stopping for some pictures at some of our favorite places.

Once it was dark we headed to Wet Willie’s, a slushie bar that my friend Josh worked at. We met with my friend Zac. Zac and I had conversations about weed in the past, but never smoked together. We decided to change that on my last night and we all headed back to where we stayed in Centro.

And then…. 

Alcohol and weed should not be enjoyed together, but that’s what we did that night. Alfredo stayed behind, not feeling up for Round Two. We could easily have taken the bus back into the Hotel Zone, but Mike was insistent we take the Mustang. Problem was, neither he nor I felt sober enough to drive. Zac said he could.

I was in the back seat, fighting the urge to just pass out. At one point I looked around, trying to gain my bearings. I remember thinking to myself, “Why are we on Bonampak (Avenue)?” I also quickly realized we were not slowing down fast enough. Zac rear-ended a taxi. Suddenly I felt pretty sober.

The damage to both cars was so superficial. Barely scratches. A cop came to the scene. Mike made a verbal agreement that if we paid the taxi driver $50 USD that would be sufficient to cover his damages. The cop seemed satisfied with that so he left. Now the taxi guy wants $200. We didn’t have that, and with it being now 1:00 AM Christmas morning, a Western Union seemed unlikely. The taxi guy said follow me, we could work this out.

I stayed in the back seat. Mike chose to drive this time. We followed the taxi into an area I knew was bad news. Just a feeling. The taxi pulled over and stopped in this neighborhood on a dead end street. As it was Christmas Eve, it was like a block party going on in the neighborhood. Another taxi quickly pulled up behind us, and a third along side of us. Guys came on both sides of the car yelling. Mike and Zac both stayed in place. The guys outside got real hostile and started punching Mike. They ripped off his watch and tore his shirt. Zac ran away. At least I hope he got away.

The guys tried to get the keys from the ignition, but luckily the Mustang has an ignition lock under the steering wheel. Mike got bold. He put the car in drive and pushed the car in front of us some. He then put it in reverse to push that car some. Back and forth, until we could squeeze out between the taxis. We squealed away, but of course had to double back because of the dead end. It was enough time for the guys to gather cinder blocks, which they threw at the car as fast and furious as possible. The windshield was smashed but we pushed through and got out of the neighborhood. 

We had lost the taxis. We approached a stoplight, in the left turn lane. I don’t remember if it were the cop or the ambulance first, but someone had noticed our broken windshield. I remember them trying to convince Mike to get medical attention, as he was obviously a little battered. They had called a tow truck, which was parked in front of us ready to load up. Mike got into the passenger seat, and I instinctively hopped into the drivers seat… Just in time for the taxi to show up. The taxi driver had a little conversation with the cop. The cop called off both the ambulance and the tow truck. And then he left.  The cop left us for dead in the hands of these taxi drivers.

As soon as the tow truck driver was pulling away from us, I floored it. I didn’t care that this light was red. It was a race for my life, and I won.