I had a car accident today (it must be something in the air lately -- first a co-worker, then poor THB, and now me. What a lovely epidemic). Overall, I was actually pretty lucky. While my adored car is potentially totalled, I am generally physically okay - just some bumps, bruises and achy muscles. And no one else was hurt, or even involved -- it was a stupid accident, really - I just took a curve too fast in bad weather, and jumped a curb. But I managed to miss the trees, and the steep drop, and oncoming traffic, and I didn't lose my life, limbs or license.
And I'm proud of the fact that I handled all the fallout myself. Once I got the car under control again, I was able to think clearly enough to get the car stopped the safest available spot. I called 911, the tow service, and my work (because of course I was running late for court when it happened), in that order, and told them to send police, a tow truck and someone else to my court date. Then I walked down to the top of the curve to direct traffic until the police got there. After the tow truck got there, I called my insurance company, set up the claim, got them to make a rental car reservation and made an appointment to have the car inspected. I went with the car to the dealership to make all the repair arrangements, and picked up the rental car, and headed back to work, and put in a full day. Because I had to prove I could. Because I had to prove that I'm strong, and tough, and not some fainty, girly chick who goes all to pieces over some silly accident - I am woman, hear me roar.
And like I said, I'm proud I could do it all myself, and go back to work, and finally close some tense negotiations with a complete a**hole of a plaintiff's attorney. But at the same time -- now that I'm home, and the shock has worn off, and there's no one to impress with how strong I am -- all I can think is the totally unfeminist thought that -- I was terrified, and I do feel somewhat fainty and girly - and it would have been really nice not to have to have done all of those things myself. It would have been really nice to have someone to call to come pick me up, and make me dinner, and run a hot bath for my (now really) achy self. To just -- be there, so that while I'm feeling grateful for having survived, I can have someone else to come home to who feels equally grateful. But I don't. Granted, by (mainly) my own choice -- I keep protesting I'm not the relationship type, I get bored easily, I don't want to be tied down, etc. It's not that that's untrue -- I think it's just that I just realized it's also very lonely. And maybe it's not that useful to act tougher than I am -- at least, outside of work, that is.
And yes, tomorrow morning, in the midst of my honesty hangover, I will totally deny that I wrote this post and instead blame it on some insane, emotional ghostwriter. You've been forewarned.
Well, I, for one, am TOTALLY impressed. I fall apart at anything, including going to the emergency room for a broken nail (it hurt! a lot!).
Posted by: E. McPan | October 26, 2007 at 10:46 AM