Car meets pillar
I made sure to recover fully from my hangover before attempting to drive to my study spot, yesterday. Shouldn't be driving all dizzy, I thought to myself. Drank some water. Read a book. Laid around for awhile.
Got in the car. Not dizzy, but dazey. The way you act when you'd rather be in bed but can't sleep anymore and feel guilty for not spending more time outside. Contemplated taking the bus but decided the need for grocery shopping was too great. Also, it's a Sunday--don't want to get stranded again once the bus stops running.
Saw something out of the corner of my eye. Distracting. Not shiny, just oddly shaped. For some reason, I thought I saw a body propped up against a car. Probably just a homeless person sleeping in the garage. Not unheard of--then the screaming of mechanical devices misused, a car horn, a loud pop. Smell of burnt rubber.
Still alive? Check. Car intact? Nope. Tried to open the door. That's not going to work, it's pinned shut by the pillar with which I just collided. Tried the door again. Still not opening. One more time. Oh, crap, just broke the inside door handle, which was on the point of snapping as it was.
Finally I got with the program enough to turn the steering wheel to the right, then applied the gas. Flop flop flop flop. You know--the sound your car makes when you have a flat tire and try to drive on it.
The damage isn't too bad. I ripped a hole in my front left tire and knocked off the rear-view mirror. The door still opens normally, though it's got a dent now. The alignment may be off, but I don't think I broke a strut this time. Oh, and I need a new hubcap.
I'm not the first person to hit that pillar, either. It's pitted like the surface of the moon.
It's odd. When something very traumatic happens, your threshold for pain goes way up. That is, you experience lots of shitty things but can never really say, "Today I had a bad day." The things that used to make you feel like the world was against you seem much less important. Wah, life's unfair. Duh. Somehow your house burning down or your computer dying just seems less important; it's still stressful to deal with, but it means less.
Today and yesterday, though--they actually feel like bad days. The fire alarm went off last night and again this morning. The first time I pulled the covers up over my head; the second, I screamed curse words at the thing. Neither managed to coax me from my apartment. What happens if there's an actual fire, I wonder. Yes, it feels bad in the sense that the world's against me, I suppose, but that doesn't really express it. I feel like I'm pushing through heavy fog, but like the fog's made of elastic maybe. It's storming outside and I can't even find my anchor the sun the sky and I just kind of need a hug.
I don't care about the car. I'm just mad I did something so stupid.
Glad it was something so trivial, though. Hope this constitutes my statistic for the year. I've had enough of being a statistic.
Got in the car. Not dizzy, but dazey. The way you act when you'd rather be in bed but can't sleep anymore and feel guilty for not spending more time outside. Contemplated taking the bus but decided the need for grocery shopping was too great. Also, it's a Sunday--don't want to get stranded again once the bus stops running.
Saw something out of the corner of my eye. Distracting. Not shiny, just oddly shaped. For some reason, I thought I saw a body propped up against a car. Probably just a homeless person sleeping in the garage. Not unheard of--then the screaming of mechanical devices misused, a car horn, a loud pop. Smell of burnt rubber.
Still alive? Check. Car intact? Nope. Tried to open the door. That's not going to work, it's pinned shut by the pillar with which I just collided. Tried the door again. Still not opening. One more time. Oh, crap, just broke the inside door handle, which was on the point of snapping as it was.
Finally I got with the program enough to turn the steering wheel to the right, then applied the gas. Flop flop flop flop. You know--the sound your car makes when you have a flat tire and try to drive on it.
The damage isn't too bad. I ripped a hole in my front left tire and knocked off the rear-view mirror. The door still opens normally, though it's got a dent now. The alignment may be off, but I don't think I broke a strut this time. Oh, and I need a new hubcap.
I'm not the first person to hit that pillar, either. It's pitted like the surface of the moon.
It's odd. When something very traumatic happens, your threshold for pain goes way up. That is, you experience lots of shitty things but can never really say, "Today I had a bad day." The things that used to make you feel like the world was against you seem much less important. Wah, life's unfair. Duh. Somehow your house burning down or your computer dying just seems less important; it's still stressful to deal with, but it means less.
Today and yesterday, though--they actually feel like bad days. The fire alarm went off last night and again this morning. The first time I pulled the covers up over my head; the second, I screamed curse words at the thing. Neither managed to coax me from my apartment. What happens if there's an actual fire, I wonder. Yes, it feels bad in the sense that the world's against me, I suppose, but that doesn't really express it. I feel like I'm pushing through heavy fog, but like the fog's made of elastic maybe. It's storming outside and I can't even find my anchor the sun the sky and I just kind of need a hug.
I don't care about the car. I'm just mad I did something so stupid.
Glad it was something so trivial, though. Hope this constitutes my statistic for the year. I've had enough of being a statistic.