Oh One Step Backward.

Today started off brilliantly. Interesting dreams, a long work day with fun people, two bites of cottage cheese for breakfast, last night was roasted red peppers in bed with feta cheese. I drove home from work late, had extra paper work I wanted to get done, and I thought about how I would like some feta cheese when I get home, just as a little treat before bed.

The stop light on Bancroft at Monroe had changed green, but no one was moving. The guy in front of me suddenly pulled into the right lane, and I thought he was impatient waiting for whomever and wanted to go in the lane over and pass them. As soon as he was out of the way, I saw the car coming straight at me from the other direction, head on in my lane. The car had to be going at least 45 to 50 miles per hour, too fast for me to do anything other than a knee-jerk reaction, turning my body slightly to the right. There was no where for me to go in that split second, and the car crashed into the front of me and sheared off to the right, peeling my driver side fender back like a can opener.

It was some sort of dark grey 80s hoopty type car, and there was no time for me to think about anything other than the single blinking type in front of my eyes "THIS IS IT." I didn't die, mercifully and thank God, but my body shook like the carnival flags in the wind at the Rally's to my right. I stood in the street, nearly midnight, and a guy got out and asked if I was okay. I told him yes and I remembered how the car had driven off like it had bounced off a metal pillow, rebounding and driving crazily off down the street. I called 911 and shakily gave garbled information about what had happened. The guy was shivering with me, it was cold like winter and sprinkling an inconsistent rain. I didn't want to get back in my car.

I called my mom and dad first, they didn't answer, I called my brother and left him a confused message. I worried about my insurance that I didn't pay this morning like I had planned to do, which is due either soon, or too late. Thats the worst feeling about this. I might be up shit creek, alright. I don't even really know. My paperwork never reached me because my drunk landlord fucked up my mail with the mail man (she put it with return to sender stuff for people that didn't live here anymore, and I didn't receive my mail for 2 weeks). But that is a poor excuse.

My parents arrived about 20 minutes after the cops, and took me to the ER, after their first questions were about the car, and not about how I was doing. I freaked out a little, screamed a bit at them, and my mom replied, "Well I asked you on the phone how you were!" Oh my parents. ANYway.

The doctor told me to take off from work today, since its 3.30am, and I have to be to work at 10.30am. No xrays, which is fine, nothing was broken. I was given a muscle relaxer, which I'm going to take, and a script for something or other motrin 800 i think and some more muscle relaxers. no big deal. I remember yelling about society and how angry I was. Seriously, second hit and run on that same car. Poor thing.

Pray that my insurance was covered through yesterday.



Meet the inside of my car.
Hello inner wheel chamber!
This poor car has seen so much and been through so much, I can only feel badly for it. I treat it like shit, and its had cans of pop explode in its interior and thai food poured all over its seats. I was thinking just recently about how it is time to think about a new car, but I get so attached to things. I really haven't had much of any trouble with it, and it has nearly 100,000 miles on it.

Being on the other side of the fence in the Er was not charming. I was embarrassed, and lets not talk about how I haven't shaved my legs for some bit. Then I had to have a cute resident, then the doctor had to touch my goddamn hairy legs, I had to wear a gown, and I almost started laughing when the resident was listening to my heart. I asked her if she could hear my mitral valve prolapse and she said, "Oh yes, I was listening to the clicks." See, my heart clicks. Yours beats. Mine, it clicks.

My mom and dad kept leaving the room when I was being examined, cause my mom knows about my tattoos but my dad doesn't, and I would never hear the end of it if he saw them. I have a feeling he might know, but probably not. I whispered to the resident about them and she and I laughed a little. Luckily, if you go to the same Er you work at, you get seen pretty quickly, and I was in and out of there in about 2 hours. Not bad, for Er time. Still, I don't like being the patient.