Update

Hi All,

We were on the Cape with the in-laws and to the christening of Bub's cousin's little boy, James Patrick. He is adorable! It was trying at times being immersed in so much of Bub's family in a concentrated time period and I should be a pro at this since Bub and I have been together for a while now, but I just seem to get so cranky. I really do need some space which I was able to get on the beach with my shuffle and with some Harry Potter. Yes, I'm slow to join all those that have enjoyed the phenomenon that is Harry Potter.

I'm feeling a bit better than I was last week. The flowers Bub sent survived the weekend while I was away and couldn't bring them home since we left straight from work to go away. My car is having surgery as I write this. Well, OK, I don't know about that. But I have the rental car that smells a bit like dog and I've bid my car a big goodbye while it gets some work done. In addition, we are going to see if we can get 1-2 other little imperfections fixed I was OK to live with since they're rather minor, but since I'm now having real work done, I may as well get my Acura baby all gussied up!

I'm strangely sort of *happy*? Wait, that's not right. OK. Yes, I'm OK to be here at work. The office is still heavenly in all its remoteness from the boss. I have a million emails and a ton to do from being out only 1.5 days, but a voicemail from a new contact at an organization we've been working with for a while gives me a sense of renewed hope since the woman who I thought was going to be my contact has given me every reason to find her snobby, stuck-up, and just plain rude. Doesn't return phone calls, emails, and bails on an IN PERSON meeting. Yes, it's true.

I still have a bunch of emails left waiting--some that could break the otherwise OK (happy?) mood I'm in.

My guy's birthday is Saturday. My parents' wedding anniversary is then, too. The eyebrows need help.

It's Monday. I'm ready for a good week. (Knock on wood.)

Aftermath

Thank goodness for car insurance and for companies that do things quick (knock on wood; I don't have my fixed car back already or anything!), but they're starting something on Monday.

Thank you guys for making me feel better. Apparently good things happen when you scrape your car:

You get flowers sent to work to surprise you coming back from the collision center.

They're from my loving and supportive (what scrape? that's NOTHING--so tiny!) husband.

You get a "Don't worry--at least nothing happened to you" pep talk from Mom.

When I had told a couple people at work what happened and Bub already knew, I called my Dad, but when he's in a meeting and says he'll call you back you think you ARE an adult and you CAN act mature. But when he doesn't call back you wonder, what was I going to say? Poor me? So when I talked to my mom later in the day and Dad was out, he called me back when he got home and said "Courtney, that's why they're called accidents."

I woke up depressed. Really, I do need to get a grip.

Oh, and Kwarterlifecrisis? Where did your blog go to? I was looking to read something to make me laugh and it says it's been deleted?! Please share...why? How? Why? Or is my link to it just dumb?

Disaster

It's setting in.

The nauseous feeling.

The upset.

The pissed off.

The really, really, fucking pissed off.

I fucked up my car today.

OK, fucked up is maybe too harsh for what happened.

It's still driveable.

I can still walk.

I hit no one.

I hit no other car.

I fucking hit the corner.

The corner you say?

The corner of a pole.

I do a 3- point turn to get into our assigned space behind home.

It's covered--we appreciate not having to shovel snow or get drenched in the rain.

It's near the trash. We don't likey.

And it's sandwiched between some lady who parks horrendously (is afraid of the CORNER of the pole touching her car--now I see why).

And a beautiful brand new beam-ma-ma.

And so I back out of the spot and do a 3-point turn to depart.

I'm used to this.

It's been years.

Yeeeears.

And so. I back up. And there are 2 beam-ma-ma's behind us. I always hope nothing ever happens to their cars. I take care in backing up.

Lately? I haven't been paying super close attention to backing up. I can feel that it's been enough time to cut the wheel. I realize this is unacceptable and I remind myself of that today.

I did NOT back into their cars. Instead, while in my head, I decided to look ahead, look straight ahead at the right hand turn I would take for the umpteenth time.

Crunch.

CRUNCH, people.

Crunch.

Off to the collision repair shop at lunch I go.

Fighting back tears, I call them on my way to work.

I'm the girl who opened the glove compartment at the light I would turn left at for the umpteenth time, searching. I had tons of papers from past trips to the dealer. I was the girl in a rage trying to find it.

The sticky.

The yellow sticky slick car dude who escorts me to my serviced car at the dealer many times gave me when I squawked at the ding. The DING that I had made with the end of an umbrella putting it into the trunk.

The sticky that now taunts me.

I call the number. Tears are burning the back of my throat.

Get it together, I tell myself.

Get it together.

Jessica, she says her name is.

JESSICA! I need to come in--appointment--car. SCRAPE.

No appointment needed.

I ask if I can come at lunch.

Yes.

I ask if they're going to order shiny new somethings for my car.

I ask to come at lunch.

She wants me to stop talking, to hang up.

I am the girl who honked at you when you didn't put a blinker on in a bottle neck and debated whehter or not a trip to Dunkin Donuts was better than driving properly. I honked and then laughed at myself.

They will stare and see maniac driver. Maniac driver with a wheel well and 1/2 a passenger door scraped. A small piece of metal mangled.

I looked so quickly. Maybe it's not bad. Maybe.

I turn my right side mirror down. I can't see anything. Is it supposed to look like that?

I pull into the parking lot at work. I park in the last row. I will not wear my shame publicly unless it's to the strangers that pass me on the highway, the backroads, those that will see the car in our space at home.

I park and I sit and then I go face the disaster.

Get a grip. It's not Cancer.

But it will be expensive.