one would think

One would think that without television, progress might be made in other areas. One would be wrong; primarily because television isn't the distraction. It's this crazy thing called the internet.

That said, there are evenings when I'll watch an hour or two of TV. That hasn't been possible since the lights went out on Friday. Despite the extra time, I have not immersed myself in the attempt to write some real, perhaps even mildly interesting, blog entry. And now, in an effort to get more sleep to aid in my recovery, there's no time left at all.

So with that, I leave you with this nice photo of the 2008 Jaguar XKR. Purdy, ain't it?

it must be spring

This has been out and about lately.


On most days, it parks in a municipal lot for a couple hours. I saw it heading out of town this afternoon. Once, it was sitting in the lane next to my little xB at a stop light. It's way smaller than my small car. Incredibly small, really. And really orange.

Happy May Day. It may still get chilly, but here's to hoping we've escaped the possibility of any more snow for the season.

the present and the past

2008

If you know me, you know I love two types of cars -- Toyota and Jaguar. My lottery fantasy of owning two cars (how extravagant) has always included a Toyota SUV (old dream, 1988 4Runner; new dream, 2008 Highlander hybrid) and a Jaguar (old dream, 1975 XJ 3.4; new dream, 2008 S-Type). There is some flexibility in there. I like my current Scion, and Ted's Prius is pretty darned cool. And it's impossible for my head not to turn at the sight of the new Jaguar XK (rrrrrow).

Other automobile makers occasionally earn props on Kelly's Opinion of Cars. When I lived in Connecticut, I regularly saw an Aston Martin DBS that was jaw-droppingly beautiful. I like the new generation Mini Coopers. And someone in the town where I live now drives an orange Lotus Elise in nice weather (i.e. not for the last three months), which is certainly eye-catching (though I would personally never want one, and would certainly never fit into one).

Tonight, I saw a Mercedes Benz CLS 55 AMD in a parking lot, and holy guacamole, it is one pretty car. I've never been a big fan of MB, perhaps because, despite their luxury reputation, most of their designs were just boxyugly when I first started ogling cars in my youth. In any event, it was lovely, and I just thought I'd mention it.

How this car rave segues into reading old journals, I can't tell you. I just started wandering through the first of my entries when I began electronically chronicling life, which occurred just as I moved myself 'cross country. Here's a smattering from June 1991. For me, it's interesting to read because I see some aspects of my personality that are exactly the same nearly 17 years later, and others that are now completely different. It's also cringe-worthy for its mundaneness and complete lack of creativity.

A brief primer in preparation for this.

• I moved from Maine to Seattle, where I had no family, friends, place to live, or job lined up.


• The trip was 5000 miles instead of 3000 because I "detoured" to Los Angeles to visit my brother.


• Current cost for a room at the SeaTac Motel 6 is $44.99 per night, plus tax.


• "Sisters" turned out to be one of my favorites shows.


• Although upon arrival I expressed frustration at the concept of still being in Seattle after six months, it was all I could do to pry myself away from that wonderful city nine years later.


• Anyone who tackles a long drive should read "On the Road."


• I did not get the job at the Seattle Art Institute.


• The house where I first rented a room contained roommates, Bean, Mike, and Dave.


• Dave drove a bakery truck at the crack of dawn, and his spare time was spent at his "second job" (i.e. the race track, which he called "the plant").


• The money that funded my trek was a cashed-out pension.


• I lived in Seattle for one year before getting a television. During that first year, I became a regular at the Lake City Library, where I not only read lots of books, I used the communal computers one hour per night to journal and work on my resume, and Mavis Beacon taught me how to type correctly.


• Priscilla and Phoenix (my cats) ended up staying with my parents for nearly a year. I brought them back to Seattle with me when I returned from my friend, Pam's wedding in 1992. Phoenix never adjusted. She ran away in 1993. Priscilla remained my precious kitty love until she died in October of 1998. It is her picture below, taken from my dining room table (she was on the skylight above).

1991

June 21, 1991

A trip cross country, almost 5000 miles in 2 weeks, gone by. And I didn't write an ounce of it down. I rationalized that everything would come back easily enough when I look at the maps, motel receipts, and pictures. But I was frustrated that I couldn't write or tape things as I was driving. There were many inspirational sights, sounds, smells and events which conjured up creative literary images.

For some reason today, I decided it was time to write now. Time to write everything. I have encountered so many thoughts and emotions. If I'd written them down (or somehow recorded them), I would have filled a lot of paper space or blank tapes. It may have helped me to organize some of these many, overwhelming, and often confusing ideas.

June 22, 1991

This morning, as I was waking up, I realized where I am (Motel 6 on South 188th in SeaTac), and when that happened, it suddenly made me feel ALONE. None of my friends or family is here, and I'm having a challenging time trying to get started (anything -- job, apartment) because everyone I talk to is a stranger.

I have to go brush my teeth, throw on some clothes, and ask the girl at the desk the location of nearest laundromat when I pay another $32.02 for this room.

June 23, 1991

I was watching a show called "Sisters" last night and thinking about how hard it is to be here with my family and friends in New Hampshire, Maine, etc... . One line in the show was a younger sister saying to an older sister who was leaving town "there's nothing you'll find out there that you don't already have right here."

I've thought about that. I had it good where I was. A comfortable job, a nice apartment full of furniture and other necessary implements, close access to my friends, and regular visits to my family. It was good. Obviously something was missing, or I wouldn't have left it all behind, right? Hmmm.

I'm looking for a job and an apartment. I wanted to be idealistic and find a job I would really enjoy -- preferably in the music industry. It's tough not knowing exactly what I want. And my money's not coming from a never-ending source, so I've just got to find employment.

I interviewed at a place called Mills Music in Bothell on Friday. It's a store which sells and rents musical instruments, sheet music and supplies. A nice man, James Mills, and a beautiful store. Of course, I went in after he talked with Isaac Meyers -- grandson of the man who ran Meyers Music... a legacy in the instrument world in Seattle. James was kind enough to tell me that I was up against some pretty stiff competition. Oh well... even if I don't get hired there, I know that I can rent a piano for $39. a month!

I have an interview tomorrow at Promotions in Motion, an advertising agency. I'm hoping to be hired on the spot. Talk about optimistic. I want to start working THIS WEEK... I NEED THE MONEY! I also think it will help me to find an apartment once I'm employed.

June 24, 1991

I had it great. I had a comfortable, secure job, opportunity to be published bi-weekly, nice apartment... . I've been through this before. I'm just frustrated that I left it all behind to find something better. I know what is said about hindsight. I could have used that time to develop my writing skills and apply to other careers while employed in a stable job. But I could only possibly appreciate that opportunity after giving it up and moving 3000+ miles away.

I'm trying to find an apartment. I am now running low on money, so I want to get into a place soon. AAARRRRGGHHHH! Now I just want a job so I can pay everything off. Now I'm going to watch Nightline, about unemployment and overwhelming debt.

½ hour later...

Someone mentions that Christmas eve is 6 months from tonight and what rushes through my mind is how I'm going to buy presents and why the hell I would still be in Seattle.

June 25, 1991

Jack Kerouac never anticipated the 90s.

June 26, 1991

OK. I have a place to live. It's a little room (not that little, but not huge) with a corner window (a cool thing) in a house with three other people. I've only met one of them. It's kind of strange, but as long as nothing unusual happens between now and tomorrow when I get my keys, I'll be OK.

Now I just have to find a job. I want that job at the Seattle Art Institute. I want that job at the Seattle Art Institute.

I WILL GET THE JOB AT THE ART INSTITUTE OF SEATTLE
I WILL GET THE JOB AT THE ART INSTITUTE OF SEATTLE
I WILL GET THE JOB AT THE ART INSTITUTE OF SEATTLE
I WILL GET THE JOB AT THE ART INSTITUTE OF SEATTLE
I WILL GET THE JOB AT THE ART INSTITUTE OF SEATTLE
I WILL GET THE JOB AT THE ART INSTITUTE OF SEATTLE

June 29, 1991

Saturday. What did I do on Saturdays in Maine. I think I went to New Hampshire enough that when I actually stayed in Maine, I allowed myself to vegetate. Watch movies, listen to records, clean the apartment, drive somewhere. Today, I slept til 10:00 (not really, I kept waking up 5:30, 7:00, 7:30, 8:00, etc...). Then I had an English muffin for breakfast. I talked to Dave for a little while. His 1974 Barracuda passed the state emissions test. Then he went to the track.

Bean wandered up and down for a little bit, altering (her client) Barbara's polyester skirts. Then, she went to a conference.

I ended up reading "The Carousel" by Rosamunde Pilcher, the author of the runaway best seller "The Shell Seekers." It only took 3½ hours to read. It was a good-but-predictable story. It did make me realize that if I want to write professionally, I need to be reading more often. If I read more and diversified things, I'll have a better grasp on the styles I do and don't want to emulate. I've been reading the newspaper every day for a couple weeks now. I quite enjoy it. I never bought the paper in Maine, because I never needed or wanted to.

Right now, I want to be employed more that just about anything. I'm thinking about the influx of bills I'll be getting in the mail on Monday (Mom's forwarding them to me). The only thing which allays my fears of unpaid bills is that I paid (and in some cases overpaid) all my bills before I left a month ago. So, at the most, I'm a couple weeks behind. And everything from Maine is paid --electric, phone, cable, oil, etc... . My auto insurance will be due in a month.

Anyway, I do need to start working this week. The sooner I start, the better! It's hard to imagine that on June 6th, I had $1600. cash, and as of June 29th, I have less than two dollars in loose change. I'll have to go through my receipts to figure out where it all went. I know that 17 or 18 nights in a hotel adds up quickly (17 x $30 = $510. approx.), plus $400 to move into the house. Plus gas, food, film, tolls, crates, hangers, etc... . That's where all that money went. It's not like I was being extravagant and buying souvenirs everywhere I stopped. In fact, the only things I bought for myself are postcards. I bought a gift for Gerry, and paid for gas for Denise when she drove me to Idyllwyld and back. Regardless, I knew that I would spend that money: that's what I planned to do.

I just expected to be immediately employed, and if I had been, I'd probably have my first check by now.

What a boring life I lead. I was just talking to Dave about various things, mostly rock 'n roll. It started because "Alone" by Heart was on the radio. He said "Heart: Seattle's Biggest Embarrassment." It struck me as really funny, and I howled! He said he'd met Ann Wilson about 10 years ago at a party, and she was doing major coke. The conversation led to artists, musicians, actors who invariably get involved with drugs and alcohol. It's almost a prerequisite that if you're remotely famous, you have to have a slightly scandalous lifestyle. Which leads me to the conclusion that I will never become famous due to my past, present, and presumably future straight-as-an-arrow lifestyle.

Anyway, nothing makes me feel like I’m me here. I no longer have my job, home, alma mater, family, or friends to support my sense of myself. It has been largely based on those things for a long time, so when I took them all away, I struggled with my identity. When I first got here, all I was was an unemployed nomad in a city full of strangers. It is my task to affirm myself (as a person -- not as a job or a home) within these circumstances.

It's amazing, the thought process that occurs in the absence of television. Dave has a TV in his room. He put it out in the living room for half a day, and I watched in mindlessly. But it's his TV, it's always been in his room, and unless I buy a TV, I'll be watching none of it. That will be a very good thing. I won't have to pay for cable. Although that would probably be nominal ($6.00 or so), it will be that much less to budget. I will be forced into other alternatives, such as reading, writing, and getting out and about.

Look at everything that I've written just because there's no television.

June 30, 1991

I'm not getting my cats. I just talked to my parents. The conversation was going along normally, then my mother asked if I minded if they had the cats declawed. So many things rushed through my mind that I forgot to say anything. It was obviously a longer pause than I thought, so she asked again -- or said something relative to shake me back into reality.

The things that went through my head:

• I found a place to live that would allow me to have cats so that my parents didn't have to house them for any longer than necessary.


• If they're declawed, they're going to be angry, and I won't be there to help them through recovery.


• They won't be able to travel for a couple months, probably.


• These cats are my children, and I feel like an uncaring parent who has abandoned her babies by moving cross country and leaving them with someone else to care for them.


• They are one of the few stable things in my life, and I've been shifting them around ever since I got them. Moreso, in recent months.


• My parents think I'm a freeloading, spoiled brat, and they need to be totally responsible for them.

cars as murder weapons

Usually, I think I'm pretty accepting. At a very basic, golden rule level, if I want people to accept me as I am, then it is an absolute must that I accept people as they are. That said, people can be amazingly stupid.

I can pretty much brush off the jerkwad who nearly crashed into me by changing lanes without looking over his shoulder to see me in his blind spot. I slammed on my brakes and the horn at the same time, and everything in my car went flying forward. Thankfully, it was just my purse (and all its contents, individually), a couple of letters, some paperwork, and a shower curtain liner. Oh, and my not unsubstantial body being herked ahead while simultaneously being restrained by a insta-magically locking seat belt. An unpleasant experience, but no paint exchange.

That pales in comparison to the idiotic woman who left her dog in her car while she went shopping at a non-essential store (the kind of place where you only shop when you have spare money). It was 85 degrees Fahrenheit today with incredibly high humidity. She cracked the windows, but that doesn't make enough difference. The poor dog was panting, barking, and scratching at the door and window to get out.

I called 911.

Yes, I did.

I explained that it was an animal emergency but I didn't have the number for the SPCA. The man on the line was very understanding and patched me through to the local police. I explained to him, and he also did not chastise me for calling about a dog. In fact, he asked for the license plate number and wanted to know if an officer should call me to follow-up.

The woman came out of the store while I was on the phone with the police. She opened the car door, bent down and petted the dog, closed the car door again, and went back into the same store.

Is it just me? Or doesn't every person on the planet know that a hot car -- even one with its windows cracked -- can literally fry/bake/cook the brain of a dog (or any other living creature)? Who are these people who don't have any good sense whatsoever? And why are they allowed to have pets? I think all people should be required to take a test which includes questions about leaving animals in cars on hot days with the windows cracked, and if they get the answer wrong, they are not allowed to have any pets.

Rant over. I have work to do.

Stupid people. ::mumble, mumble::

nifty!

I would talk about Idol tonight, but I don't want to. How's that for temperamental? MSNBC's Test Pattern blog directed me to an online test to name all 50 states in less than 10 minutes (take the test here). Thanks to a song I learned many moons ago, I was not only able to name all the states in a mere 95 seconds, but I did it in alphabetical order.

When I was reading the Test Pattern comments, I realized that there are apparently legions of people who also learned this song. As I read more and more of the comments, I think I've concluded that it was taught to elementary school kids around the country for the Bicentennial. I remember quite distinctly being in 4th grade when Mrs. Watson-Jones taught it to us, which was 1976 for me.

I only remember the part that lists the states. I'd managed to completely block out the rest of it (except at the end where you shout very deliberately NEW HAMPSHIRE IS THE BEST!). Here it is for your listening enjoyment. Pay no attention to the massive typo on the title of this clip.



Did you ever learn this song? Can you still sing it? How well do you remember the Bicentennial?

I remember lots. My father, oldest brother, and I were in a Revolutionary War reenactment militia. My uncle who lived in Concord, Massachusetts (birthplace of the revolution) bought me a black plastic fife, which started my 8-year hobby of dressing up in authentic costumes, reenacting battles (the fifers were always at the front of the line and therefore the first to die), marching in parades, and traveling far and wide. A year or two later once my interest in fifing was cemented, my Dad had a rosewood fife carved for me. I also procured a buglehorn and penny whistle along the way, with a brass scabbard for the lot of them (well, except the buglehorn, which I flung over my shoulder on a satin rope).

By the time we journeyed to the South in the early 80s to do the later Revolutionary battles, I was regularly teaching spectators about the instruments and even showing them how to play. I especially remember Yorktown, which not only had over a million participants, but was even attended by President Ronald Reagan and France's President Francois Mitterand. The combined fife and drum corps was over a thousand musicians strong. There was a time delay from the front of the group to the back of it. It was cool.

At camp, a group of girls about my age came up to me and asked about the fife. I spent probably 15 minutes in explanation and showing each of them to play a note or two. When the lesson was over, one of them said to me in a serious Southern drawl, "Where're y'all from?" When I answered, "New Hampshire," she said in the same serious drawl, "I thought I detected a Norrrrrrthrnnn accent." She dragged out the word "Northern" as if she were picking up a mouse by its tail to toss it out of the house. Too funny.

Also in 1976, my parents bought a brand new Volkswagen bus. It was two-toned with blue on the lower half and white on the top (not quite like the one pictured, which is actually a 1959 model). The full-size roof rack was red, and it bore state-issued Bicentennial commemorative licence plates. We were a patriotic lot.

After a decade of having a VW bus as the family transport, this would be the final one for us. It lasted four years, after which, my parents bought the wildly popular 1980 Chevrolet Citation for $4000. It's amazing the weird little details I remember from my youth.

Time for bed. By the way, the boys were weak again tonight. Only Blake Lewis and Chris Sligh were worth the price of admission. OK, I guess I couldn't go completely without an Idol mention.

Song playing as I finish writing this post is a serious flashback from the beginning of the house music craze. "Good Life" by Inner City. I love this song. Five stars.

i got a new toy, oh-ay-oh

Behold, the Boom Box. Our newest toy, it is Blue Onyx Pearl, although it really has to be a fairly sunny day to see that it's not black. A Toyota enthusiast from the time of my first new car, I am excited to get back into one (although the Honda was a fine vehicle!). In the first few days, I discovered a phenomenon.* People love this car!

We parked it at Costco one evening to do our weekly shopping and have dinner at Cafe 150. When we came out, there a family of three walking around it and talking about it ("it looks like it's from a foreign country," she said, to which I had to stop myself from saying, "it is from a foreign country -- Japan!"). We chatted with them a bit, and decided that the foreign country it looked to be from was actually England, and they thought it looked like a British cab. The other curious observation was that there were foreheadprints on each of the windows. Apparently, while we were shopping, someone was trying to see in (it has tinted windows). Too funny.

I have also encountered several fellow xB drivers on the road who cheerily wave at me when we pass. This reminds me of my youth, when other friendly folk waved at us in our Volkswagen bus just because they were in one, too.

It's a fairly straightforward car. Cool standard features like power doors and power locks, but a few luxuries missing (cruise control being the big one). The leg room is tremendous, even in the back seat, although cargo space in the back was clearly sacrificed to get it. It doesn't help that the Bazooka subwoofer in there is actually mounted about a third of way into the middle instead of flush against one side or the other. Not a huge deal, as the seats easily fold down and provide lots of cargo space.

It's a great little car. Shifts nice (yes, I still drive a stick) and has more pep than it should with such a small engine. The gas mileage is better than the Honda (although not yet as good as I've been told by other xB owners), and the insurance is a mere $6 per month more than the Honda. I'm very happy with it.

* Every time my husband hears the word "phenomenon" (or its derivitives), he immediately sings "doot-dooooot-doo-doo-doot" a la the song Mana Mana from the Muppets. Now I can't even write the word without thinking about the doots.

"we'll take one of each"

Ted and I went car shopping today. Inspired by my recent $43 tank of gas and the long-held desire to get rid of his car, we test drove a Toyota Prius. In a word... cool. We've been talking about getting a hybrid for more than a year, although we had been focused on the Highlander. Because we planned to keep our Honda CR-V, we decided that two SUVs in the family was one too many -- even if one was "small" and the other "medium." And thus, the Prius. We are now on the waiting list, which means it will be 2-3 months before we actually get the car.

While we were at the car dealership (for a couple hours, mind you), Ted suggested that we trade in the Honda and also buy a new Scion xB. He had test-driven one a couple months ago and really liked it. The dealership had one on the lot (Scion is made by Toyota), and so I decided I'd drive it, too. They even had a 5-speed stick, which is my transmission of choice. And Ted was right. It was a fun car to drive. Sure, it looks like a box! But it's got great cargo (and passenger) space, and its gas mileage is even better than the CR-V's.

We didn't drive out with new cars today (I'd planned on the waiting list for the Prius, and didn't plan at all for the idea of trading in the Honda), but we are well on our way to ending up with two new cars before the year is out. The gas mileage alone justifies the seemingly impetuous nature of this decision. The Prius gets 60 MPG city and 51 highway, compared to our Acura's 23 MPG highway and 21 city. Plus there's the added bonus of reduced emissions. And the Scion averages 35 MPG where my Honda is around 25.

It feels dangerous, buying two new cars at the same time. But it just might be the right idea.

flashback 1995

My freshman year of college, there was a tight housing situation on campus. A new dorm would not be completed by Fall, which meant that the freshman and sophomore women were required to live in triples for the first semester. So, I had two roommates. Pam was one. As it turned out, she and I ended up rooming together for all four years, and have stayed close ever since. Michelle (a.k.a. Meet-shell) was the other.

We were happy enough together that we remained a triple, even after the new dorm opened in January and all the other residents spread out. I remember one sleepy morning when all three of us were still in bed, the dean knocked on our door, opened it, and upon seeing us asked the RA, "why are there still three girls in this room?" When we told him that we wanted to remain in a triple, he thought we'd all gone mad.

Meet-shell only stayed there for that one year before transferring to a different college. Although our contact has waxed and waned over the years as we both made various moves through several states, we now stay in touch through our blogs. Recently, she posted an entry about her wedding anniversary, detailing that one of the fun components of the celebration was renting a brand new Mustang for the day.


Michelle with the new 'Stang in 2005

This made me chuckle as approximately 10 years ago, I, too, had my picture taken with a brand new Mustang that was mine only for a short period of time (I rented it while I was home for the holidays). So, I told Meet-shell that I would post that picture here.


Me with the new 'Stang in 1995

I guess it's just natural to want to take a picture of yourself with a cool car that isn't actually yours! Happy anniversary Michelle and Jason!

~~~
Cool four song combination that just played on my iTunes

[1] "Testosterone" - Bush llll
[2] "Chicago" - Sufjan Stevens llll
[3] "Parting Gift" - Fiona Apple llll
[4] "Behind Blue Eyes" - The Who llll

at last

The car has returned to us. A long 54 days later, and it once again graces its appointed parking spot behind our house. We actually parked the other car in the spot during the day, so that our neighbor would get the hint not to straddle the line anymore. It worked, although their car is now parked perilously close to our $7,360.75 repair job.

The happy news is that the long delays by both the insurance company and the repair shop resulted in reductions of our $1000 deductible by $765.52. Basically, that accident cost us $234.48 (+ 54 days, a killer bruise, and some emotional turmoil).

achoo!

Still sick. Having my performance review at work today. It should be interesting having a two-hour conversation in a closed room with my Vice President, while I sneeze and blow my nose. Then there are three meetings to attend, four and a half hours in total for those. Oh yeah, and then maybe do some work. Supposed to get the car back tonight. Where have I heard that before? Must run away and start the day now. Wish me luck.

what in the sam hill...?

Forty-six days ago, I was in an accident. As of today, we still don't have the car back from the repair shop. Every three days, I call to make sure it's ready, and they apologize, tell me there's been a delay, and that it will be ready in three days. So, three days later, I call to make sure it's ready... . Saturday, I went to the shop in person without any notice. I walked into the garage and under our car (not a good sign, it was on the lift). The guy said "Monday. It'll definitely be done on Monday." Today (Monday), I pulled out my secret weapon -- Ted.

First, I asked him to call them around noon to verify that the car would be ready and find out a definite time we could pick it up. They told him 5:00pm. So, at 4:30pm, I picked up Ted from work, we drove to the shop, and at 5:04pm, walked in the door. It would be kind of funny if we walked under the car on the lift, like I did Saturday, but in fact, it was sitting in a different corner (and on the floor) of the garage. As we walked back toward the office, the guy appeared and said, "I'm afraid I have some terrible news... the part never came in today."

And I might as well have yanked a cork out of Ted's head. He went bananas on the guy -- in a non-psychotic way -- but with much emphasis and volume. He pointed out the obvious like "you keeping telling us this thing is going to be ready," and "when I called at noon today, you said we could pick it up at 5:00pm tonight," and "you could have picked up the phone and called this afternoon so we didn't make the trip here," and "the car has been here for 34 days... ."

34 days.

That doesn't include the 12 days it sat in storage while the insurance company didn't get around to appraising it. We've made two car payments (and insurance payments) on the thing in the time we haven't had that car. Our neighbor is so confident that we are now a one-car family that she is basically parking her car in our space.

I can't talk about this anymore. Besides, my throat is sore, and I'm starting to lose my voice.

update and vent

So, I entered this cryptic title last time and dashed off before I could give a real explanation. I still don't have time to go into all the specifics (and nobody in their right mind would want to read them all). But I need to vent, so here I am for a quick summary of events and a bit of steamletting.

Two weeks ago tomorrow, I was in a car accident. It was an unusual situation and as it happened I was driving my husband's car when it happened. I will not get into the details of the accident. I was then, have been for the past two weeks, and will continue to be for the rest of my life, grateful that neither the passengers in the other car nor I were hurt. I can't speak for their after-effects, but I had naseau for nearly a week afterwards and a spectacular seat belt bruise which, as of right now, is only the faintest bit of shadow.

The car, however, was not so lucky. Hit in the right rear quarter, it spun around about 45 degrees and the bumper went flying across the road to land on the grassy area by the sidewalk. The right rear wheel is no longer perpendicular to the ground, and thus the car is undriveable. It was towed away that morning, and until yesterday, sat in a storage yard awaiting the insurance company appraiser's inspection. The tow truck driver told us he thought that they would total it because of the extent of the damage. However, yesterday morning, I received a call that upon visible inspection, it was, in fact, fixable.

I have no idea why my insurance company would only do a visual inspection when clearly there will be significantly more work to be done under the car. But apparently they're going for the fastest route (although it took them nearly two weeks to get around to the inspection), by writing up an initial report and sending me the first check -- $5100, less our $1000 deductible. He assured me that they would pay the rest once the shop gave a second estimate for the remaining repairs.

When I spoke with the shop, they assured me that this is the way it's done now. They do it all the time. So, I guess I just have to continue to hope for the best.

Over the last week, I'd let myself get relatively laissez-faire about it (whereas the first week, I did a lot of handwringing and general fretting). Most of our conversations this week have centered on replacing the car. So, yesterday's news that it was fixable threw us a little off track. Truth is, we were looking forward to getting rid of it. Oh well.

Anyway, in this new milder mindset, I had managed to not think about the ways this process could go wrong, the most significant of which would involve the other driver. Well, tonight I got a call from the officer on duty, needing me to reiterate my insurance information because it was incorrect on the police report. I was cynical about the veracity of this call (read too many spam emails about scams) and offered instead to call the police station back with it. He asked that I do so within half an hour. I asked him what the problem was, because I had given him my insurance information at the accident. He said that the driver's mother was "making a stink about it."

Here we go.

So, despite the fact that my house is really cold tonight (the largest electric bill we've had in five years has convinced me to turn down the heat) and my fingers are freezing and blue, my face is burning up and red. Putting my hands to my cheeks is temporarily a relief to both, but it's difficult to function in that position for long.

The rest of my cryptic title referred to a trip I took the day of the accident (I had to fly to Chicago for a series of business meetings), the trip home, the immediate immersion into the too-long SuperBowl, and my complete and utter exhaustion after that series of events. Had I been in possession of an only slightly less sturdy constitution, I'd have fainted dead away and been admitted to a "spa." Instead, I went to work at 6:45am Monday morning (with only one car, my husband and I now carpool, changing my work schedule to adapt to his).

To reiterate the good things: Despite the occasional misstep, I still believe that I live a blessed life and I am grateful for every tiny (and little and medium and big and extra large) good thing. My husband was recently promoted, which is great for him. I have a ton of projects at work, which is a good thing even if it's sometimes overwhelming. I have so much. It's frustrating that one out-of-whack-situation can commandeer so much of my attention away from all the good.

The holidays, my two business trips, the accident, and the backlog of work behind me for now, perhaps I can finally dedicate more time and attention to sanguinary blue. Real attention. Creative writing and editing and graphics and links and everything.