Last Wednesday evening, I really didn’t want to go to the gym. But my daughter had been off of school for the holidays, and since she’s under the age of 13, she’s not allowed to accompany me to the gym. So when she’s off of school, I can’t go to the gym during the day. Then when my ex-husband gets home, I have to decide whether I’m going to drag my ass to the cardio machine a twenty-minute drive away in the dark when I’d rather be sucking down a glass of wine and watching MSNBC. Last Wednesday, I was leaning towards wine-sucking and Chris Matthews, but, “No, Diana,” I said to myself in my stern internal voice, “it’s been two days. You need cardio. You’ll feel better afterward!” I said, trying to sound like my image of the annoying motivational fitness person outfitted in spandex and a glossy layer of sweat. “Alright alright. Jesus,” I replied to myself and got myself dressed, drove off to the gym.
I got through my workout, begrudgingly. And I got into my car to leave, seeking the salvation of the wine I had waiting for me at the house. And MSNBC.
So I’m driving, barely having left the gym, some annoying song on the radio that I didn’t want to hear. (THERE WASN’T EVEN A GOOD BACKGROUND SONG PLAYING.)
Then the shadow of a truck, the moment of wanting to escape, and then the scrunch and crumple of metal and plastic, me thrown over like a rag doll. Then the moment of a daze, of shock. Of figuring out what had just happened. I pry open my car door, which is difficult, and climb out, smelling something like gasoline or burnt…something…not entirely sure my car isn’t about to catch fire. The guy apologizes profusely. My elbow is sore. I’m gazing at nothing, not looking at anything, but I keep catching glimpses of my car, which looks totaled, and I’m sad, and I’m sadder, and the guy keeps apologizing and smiling and I walk over to the crumpled part of my poor car and touch it with my finger, and I’m saddest, and I know this sucks.
Eventually, the cops come. A report is done, my car is left, my ex and my daughter come to pick me up. I go back and finally have a shower and my wine.
That was Wednesday.
On Friday, reeling from the stress of the accident still, wondering if one of my few remaining symbols of security, my lovely, reliable car of eight years, is going to pull through, I decide to do the laundry. Maya’s still off of school and we’re lazing around. The laundry is something I can do. And cleaning. (I cleaned some stuff too, which was kind of a big deal.) I throw the laundry into the washer, get that fucker going, and then sit back down. “There I’ve done something.” I felt pretty alright. (I’d cleaned too, so.)
Cut to an hour later, when I’m transferring my clothes to the dryer and see some hard metal object in the bottom of the washer, which turns out to be my iPod. My iPod, which I’d left in my pocket after my fateful workout on Wednesday night, after…the accident. This is an iPod, mind you, that has survived a screen smashing–I’ve lived with a cracked screen that’s cut my finger a few times for a few years now–multiple violent tumbles, water drippings, all kinds of general abuse…only to be washed by accident while I was trying to do something productive. Yes, I know, rice. It’s in rice in a ziploc. It’s not going to pull through. I can tell. I can just feel it.
So that’s two down, not much to go. I still have my phone and a new solid-state laptop that I got as a Christmas present, which also was a big deal. (I’d needed a new computer for like five years.) I have those possessions, symbols of security, or something. I don’t have much else. BUT THINGS ALWAYS GET BETTER, RIGHT?
I’m sure they do. Now I’m slightly traumatized from the accident and I have to use my daughter’s iPod until I can figure out how to prostitute myself for enough money to get a new iPod. Or until my birthday, whichever comes first.
So what’s the point of this post? I just wanted to vent on the, like, two people who read my blog posts. And it’s my Merry Christmas message. Life sucks. But if you’re looking to feel better about your life, just look at mine. Haha. Happy New Year!