I know, I'm really late. But here's the story: last Sunday night I decided to pretend I was a stunt double, aka I got hit by a car. I was just minding my own business, carrying home my lemon juice from the gorcery store when someone ran a red light. And hit me in a crosswalk. And flipped me right up on the hood of their car.
For a couple of days I kinda couldn't deal with it. I felt embarrassed that it happened, like it was somehow my fault (even though it wasn't). I felt blessed that I walked away with nothing more than bruises. I felt angry, almost violated, that someone gambled with my safety. I felt sad that life can be put in jeopardy so easily. And then I felt like a baby for thinking so much about the whole thing, and the whole cycle would start all over again.
I took Monday off of work, because I just didn't want to go out in the world. This meant Tuesday and Wednesday at work were insane, especially because I left Wednesday night to visit my boyfriend's family on the east coast. The timing was serendipitous--nothing mends a bruise back like the smell of saltwater, lobster dipped in butter, meeting someone's loved ones.
So one week later, I'm back at work, still a little bruised, but mostly just very, very thankful that someone upstairs was watching out for me. I feel like I got this year's Christmas present a little early.
Photo: Kristina Ogilvie (Seriously, how can you miss these?)