The author is in a pretty good mood for a guy who cracked up his car last night.
Mood music for this post: “Stigmata” by Ministry:
Last night, on the way home from an OA meeting, I cracked up the car. Badly.
The good news is that nobody was hurt, though my car is another story. The front end is smashed in. Oddly enough, the headlights, while popped out of place, are intact and working. Even the front bumper looks unscathed. The grill and hood are a mess, on the other hand.
The other person involved in the accident was very nice, as was the cop who pulled up, surveyed the scene and took the report.
Now I’m sitting here remembering 1997, the year my 1996 Ford Escort was smashed no less than three times.
Now I have to work from home, call the insurance folks and file the accident report with the Haverhill Police, Registry of Motor Vehicles and my insurance agency. This, on top of an already jam-packed day where I’m trying to get a lot of work done ahead of the trip to Washington later this week.
But strangely enough, I’m not depressed. Much. I don’t even think it would be accurate to say I’m stressed. Much. I’m certainly annoyed. A lot. But I’m not undone. Not one bit.
I’m not binge eating or drinking.
I’m not melting down from an onrush of fear and anxiety.
I’m just intent on doing what needs to be done today, and I feel calm.
Compared to how I reacted after those 1997 accidents, that’s some heavy-duty progress.