2004-08-29 I got hit by a fucking car
Friday night, I got hit by a car.
It sucked. I'm okay.
I was crossing the street -- in the crosswalk, under a streelight, and I even had the WALK sign at about 10pm. The girl turned right, plowed right into me. I remember thinking that I should try to not land in the street because I didn't want to get run over by someone behind her. Next thing I know, I'm picking myself up off the concrete 10 feet away, staring at the back of the car and trying to memorize the license place number, in case they tried to take off, while moving up to the curb and balancing myself against a tree. The car stopped, and two girls jumped out of the car asking if I was ok. The car in front of her and the car behind her both stopped, and people came out and asked me if I was ok, and told me that they called the police.
Mindy (the girl who hit me) drove me to the emergency room at Mercy. Nice girl, as it turns out (needs to learn how to fucking drive, but nice). Also a French major, so I'll probably have her in a class at some point.
A police officer met us there, did whatever he had to do with Mindy while I got checked out. I talked to a lot of different doctors and nurses and the police officer, all of whom were very nice. I sat around and cracked jokes the entire time. I mean... what else do you do. Cry? I'd rather laugh.
The doctors thought I broke my leg, so I had to get X-Rays taken. Didn't break anything, but I have some wicked nasty bruises. I was in the ER for about an hour-and-a-half. My umbrella and headphones broke, and I wasn't looking forward to the cold, rainy walk home in wet pants. They told me that I'd be fuckin' hurting the next day, but it'd get better. They were right. I pulled muscles I didn't even know existed.
But Mindy had waited to see if I was okay, and was nice and gave me a ride home. Which is kind of twisted, when you think about it. "Yeah, I ran you over. Want a ride?"
I got home, and Mr. Overla was supposed to visit me this weekend. He was camped out in front of my door when I got there, he'd gotten into town at about the time I got to the ER. He wasn't mad. Of course. He was stopping through town on his way to Chicago to do something. I had things planned for us to do, but. Oh well. He left early the next morning, left a nice note for me. He's a nice man.
I was dealing with all of this really well, psychologically/emotionally, until yesterday afternoon, when a friend of mine (the master of Inappropriate Things to Say at the Worst Possible Time) said (for whatever fucking reason) "Yeah, but you could've been killed!"
Then my brain snapped and I spent the rest of the day pacing and chain-smoking.
I don't smoke.
Today's been better.
I bought a cute skirt to make myself feel better today, and have been showing off the Wicked Nasty Bruise on my leg. That's what I've named it. The Wicked Nasty Bruise. A friend told me it looked like someone tatooed algea on me. Thanks.
I'm limping less, now. Only when I walk a long time or really fast now. Which is nice.
I'm at work now, kind of wishing I weren't. I have homework to do. I want to be sleeping. Work isn't terrible, though.
Oh, and yesterday I ran into Victor. From Dubuque. He was in Iowa City kind of randomly to film some stuff or another with a friend and Tim. He mentioned he was going to do this "sometime within the next few weeks" back in June? July? Which meant anything from the next day to 6 months from then. If he remembered. So really, anytime between the next day and never again. But part of me figured it'd be the weekend I was (at least supposed to) having a guest.
Ha. I was right.
We hung out for maybe an hour. I showed him my new apartment. That was it.
The rest of my week was fine. My classes are good, but Chinese makes my brain melt. Got the tatoo on my back worked on a bit. Getting back into the swing of things. Applying for jobs (got a little screwed on hours at the lab), got calls back for a crappy food service job and a tutoring job. Gonna interview tomorrow for the food service one and gonna call tomorrow about the tutoring one. Need to do laundry. Bought detergent today. A thrill a minute.
My ankle hurts alot. I probably twisted it.
I'm sore in places I didn't think possible. I guess that's what getting hit by a car does to you, huh.
I've been getting really pissed at the people who, after finding out I got hurt and went to the ER, have been asking me "Did you get painkillers? If so, can I have some?" And when I answer no, say "Ohh, why not?" Which is just grossly inappropriate. I remember this pissing me off when I had scarlet fever and had painkillers. NO. I HAVE THEM FOR A REASON.
I don't see what makes people think that it's their right to know what the fuck whatever medication is when they see a pill bottle. It's a pretty personal thing, isn't it? And it's especially infuriating when they pick it up, look it over and ask "Anything fun?"
Grrr. None of your fucking business. There's privacy laws with these sorts of things, now. I mean... christ, you're not even allowed to stand so close to someone in a pharmacy, lest you overhear something.
It's a pet peeve. But it pisses me off that some people (not most, but a handful) are more concerned about drugs than someone's well-being.
Anyway, I have homework to do.
9.46pm
