"my" "life"

Sometimes when I'm running to catch a bus hijacked by Neo-Nazi fascists on which my only living relative, my 5 year-old precocious niece Gina, is a passenger, or I'm revealing the secret of the slightly smelly gray depression in my backyard to a gang of teenage detectives who are convinced I killed their principal when really they should be chatting up the Western civ teacher who hasn't been quite right in the head since he fell down that elevator shaft two years ago, sometimes in these normal day-to-day activities, I feel it -- a big black presence looming over me, and I can see the darkness out of the corner of my eye, and I wonder if my optometrist is in league with the IRS agent-cum-amateur wizard who cursed me with poor vision as a child because my mom didn't pay her taxes. And then I realize it's just my personal sound boom, getting in my frame of vision again. It never ceases to amaze me the kind of shoddy workmanship you get from people who answer your ad on Craig's List and are willing to be paid solely in future signed first editions of the book that has yet to be published...