Yesterday was just one of those days for me. Maybe I should have seen it coming. Or maybe it's a good thing that I didn't.
The first little thing happened in the shower. I've only done this a few times in my life, but I'll be damned if I didn't lather up my face scrub (containing microbeads!) and put it directly into my freshly washed hair. I decide this is not as bad as the time I put conditioner on my face.
Then as I'm taking a schlug of my coffee, some spit or something goes down the wrong tube and I have to cough -- like, right now. There's no time to swallow or spit out the coffee. I make my best attempt at spitting the coffee into the sink before exploding in my coughing fit, to no avail. Coffee splattered all over the sink, the wall, you name it. It is now that I am thankful Dan is a heavy sleeper, or he would likely think I am throwing up all over the bathroom (which, admittedly, would have been far worse).
But, I remain optimistic. I get ready for my day. A gloriously warm and sunny summer-like Friday. The day of my very first deadline at work. A big day no doubt. I'm a bit nervous, a bit excited, a bit anxious for the weekend to come either way. All I had to do was run out to Farmington Hills to do my police rounds then head into the office to wrap up the one story I have left to write for the first edition, which lays out and prints Monday.
I go to one police station, gather all kinds of info on a string of car break-ins happening in the area (people, take your wallets, purses, and 42-inch plasma TVs in the house at night). Then I head off to the other police department I cover. The chief kindly stops by the conference room where I'm looking through reports to make sure all is well before he jets off to a M.A.D.D. awards ceremony. We leave the building at the same time.
I see in my rear view mirror that he runs back into the building from his car and I buckle up and turn out of the parking lot. About 100 feet ahead I begin to cruise through a yellow light and when I'm just about through it the little old lady across from me -- wait. what is she. she's not going to -- BLAM. Little Old Lady turns right into me.
It takes me a second to take in my surroundings. I am ingesting the noxious burning-like odor that is present after two airbags explode. I don't remember them going off, I just remember noticing they had popped. I was in a daze and realized my arms were killing me. I am momentarily convinced I have broken my right arm, just as my grandma did, thanks to her airbag when she was in a relatively minor crash.
I really am in a daze, and am not sure what to do or if I should do anything. Cars begin honking at me and Little Old Lady is looking at me and pointing, which confuses me anymore. I pull over closer to the side of the road.
Having driven past the crash just moments after it occurred, the police chief backs up his truck and gets out, coming to get me out of my car saying something about the airbags. I'm embarrassed to be crying at this man with whom I'm supposed to be earning trust and respect in a professional manner, as he speaks to me like I am his daughter and gets me out of the car.
When he called later in the evening to make sure I was OK, he said I was sitting in the car engulfed by a cloud of airbag dust going directly into my face, which, no matter what anyone says, can't be good for you. He says in all of his decades in policing he's never been in a car when airbags explode and he's sure it must be scary.
He walks over to his officer who has arrived on the scene when an older man starts talking to me. I have no idea who he is and for a moment wonder if he had been the driver of the other car and not Little Old Lady, because he's trying to say it was my fault, it seems.
Man: You drove right through the amber light.
Me: Yes.
Man: You see, if you go through the amber light, that's tough. You have to turn on an amber light because if you don't you have to turn on a red light and that's against the law.
(To which I think, who the hell is this man and is he really saying it's OK to turn into traffic to beat a light???) He disappears and finds the other drier to bother her some while Officer Wood gets my information. When we meet up with the woman, she asks if I'm OK, but never apologizes. She's easily in her mid-70s, and this is her first ticket.
I essentially had a couple of giant goose egg-like bruises with scratches on my right arm and some cuts and scratches on the inside of my left arm from the airbag. Nothing was broken though.
The car dealership where I bought my new car only four weeks ago is wonderful. Becky in the Service Department says she can hook me up with a free rental for 2 weeks and she's sending out Luca's Towing to come get me. I spend the next couple of hours sitting on a bench in downtown Farmington, in the amazing sun. I'm even able to pick up a wireless signal, which enables me to contact Dan whose phone is on vibrate in the bottom of his bag. He is able to leave work to come snag me, so I don't have to ride with Luca on the 40-minute trip to the car dealership.
While I wait, I realize I have 2 cans of La Croix in a cooler in the trunk of my car. I also have a salad leftover from dinner the night before, but no fork... BUT I threw a bag of frozen broccoli on top of the salad to keep it cold. Yes! Broccoli ice pack. Sadly, I forgot that I had an actual icepack underneath the salad, but that's OK, because the broccoli is able to reach all of my right-arm injuries.
By the time Dan drops me off at the dealership, I get my brand new rental and get to the office, it is 4 p.m. The crash has taken away five hours of my day and I have missed my first deadline by an hour. I collect myself as best I can, though tired, frazzled and in pain and write up the quick story on the break-ins. My editor says I can finish my one incomplete story over the weekend and I'm out the door by 5:30.
Jay mentioned I should get Arnica lotion for my bumps and bruises. After the genius that was oscillicoccinum (I'll have to repost that blog from Myspace later) I'm immediately on board. Being the awesome squeeze that he is, Dan runs to the store and gets me Arnicaflora Gel (the most expensive and preferred by the Whole Foods employee). Although I woke up today with a very tight and sore body, my Playdough arm is gone! It's still painful, scratched up and bruised to hell, but it's LEVEL. Not too bad for 24 hours after the crash.
After 3 hours awake, I decide I could probably go back to sleep. Dan convinces me I should and that my body is probably tired because it is healing. He gives me a great massage and wraps me up in the many blankets we refer to as my cocoon. Though I'm convinced I can't actually fall asleep, I lie there for a while, daydreaming about how I will attack my day. First the yarn store for Joy's blanket, then Meijer, then... I wake up at 5 p.m.
Now I'm feeling pretty well. I should be working on my story, but instead I'm blogging. This is my first Saturday since I moved where I didn't have to do anything -- and didn't. I wish it wasn't because I feel poo-like, but I'm glad I was able to rest and recuperate. I'm pretty sure my 24 hours of ultimate, supreme, uber-pampering is nearing its end, but I'm going to milk it for all its worth.
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