Why I Didn't Post Anything New on My Blog Last Night

I meant to post last night, but by the time I got back from buying cat food at Albertson's I felt run down. 

Like I'd been hit by a truck. 

Or an enthusiastically riced Honda Civic.  Like this one.  Only darker.

Its owner revved its engine and backed out at 90.  I placed my right hand on its unnecessary spoiler, pushed myself into the air, slammed into the back windshield, then its owner threw it into drive and I rolled off the back windshield and onto the parking lot.  I heard it gun its engines and watched it drive away. 

I was still clutching the bag of cat food. 

My iRiver was still in my pocket, but I could neither feel nor find my headphones.

A kind man dropped his groceries and ran to me and asked if I needed any help. 

He said, "Do you need any help?"

I said, "I don't think so."

He said, "I didn't catch the license number."

I said, "Me neither."

He said, "Are you sure you're alright?  Do you need a lift?"

I said, "No, I live right up there."

Then I walked home.  I felt my heart pounding through my shoulder.  I climbed three flights of stairs.  It was fun.  I opened the door and put the bag of cat food in the tin. 

I poured and drank a stiff drink. 

I walked into the Little Womedievalist's office and informed her I'd sort of been hit by a car in the parking lot.

I said, "I was sort of hit by a car in the parking lot."

She said, "Are you alright?"

I said, "The man asked that too.  I was fine then but I feel sort of strange now."

She said, "What do you mean 'sort of strange'?"

I said, "Like I don't know."

She said, "We should call someone."

I called Albertson's and asked if they had cameras pointed in the parking lot.  The woman on the phone said they didn't because the parking lot belonged to the Irvine Company. 

I called the Irvine Company.  The message said, "Business hours had ended."  I hung up and called back.  I listened to the message again.  I wrote down the number of the private security company Irvine employees to watch over Albertson's parking lot.  I called them.  The dispatcher informed me that she was only a dispatcher and didn't know if there were cameras.  She said their security guard left at 7 p.m. and wouldn't return until 3 p.m. on Saturday.  She recommended I call the police.

I called the police station next to my apartment complex.  I told the officer what happened.  He said I needed to call the Irvine police because Albertson's is across the street. 

I called the Irvine police.  They said they would send someone out.  I brushed my teeth and calmed the wife.  I began to feel sort of stranger in my lower back.  I sat down on the couch with excellent posture and watched Pedro lose it in the bottom of the seventh. 

The doorbell rang.  An earnest young officer took my statement.  She asked polite questions.  Said she would have someone look into it in the morning. 

Said the important thing was I wasn't hurt. 

That the odds of catching the motorist were slim. 

That she and the civilian with her had been in Starbuck's around eight. 

That she or someone else would be back in touch sometime Saturday.  I went back inside.  Proceeded to freak out. 

Use profanity. 

Feel sort of even stranger in my lower back. 

Which then tried to implode.  Like when things wink out in cartoons.  I had offended it and it punished me by trying to make me touch my toes backwards.  I retaliated by depriving it of oxygen.  I took short breaths.  I failed to inflate my lungs.  I became light-headed.  I refused to stand up. 

I bent over forward in defiance.  It defied my defiance.  I defied its.  Modern medicine prevailed.  I took a strong muscle relaxer and slept on the hard living room floor. 

All this I did and said and had done to me and that is why I didn't post anything new on my blog last night.

Comments

[mom]

OK, I forgot to add this the other day--In such times like this your life passes before you--well, a late night call causes a parent to see your life fly before their eyes--cute tiny baby, toddler who loved to sing, child who loved to act (ask HS friends), young college man, new husband, move accross the country, etc. This was a guick version of what I saw and someone will pay for the ache in my soul.

[Ancrene Wiseass]

Oh. Mah. Gawd!

I'm glad you're okay-ish and that you've been to the doctor. How horrifying!

Feel better soon.

And I think we should nominate Scott's Mom as the protagonist of Tarentino's next movie.

[Ancrene Wiseass]

Uh, make that "Tarantino's next movie."

Unless you know some capable young director who spells her name the way I typed it above.

[Wax Banks]

Why'd you have to go and say that shit about Pedro?

This is what I get for trying not to read blogs for a while: I come back, and people spoil my good mood with unnecessary bad news about my man Pedro.

[Do get better quickly, sir.]

[courtney]

You sound just like me. I try to toughen out every injury I have ever had and it just screws up your body whether you see it now or an a year or years it will haunt you. GO SEE THE DOCTOR!

[Jeff]

From what you have said - you were so lucky - that could have been much worse, what an idiot!