pain in the neck.

Going to the chiropractor today.

Imagine my displeasure. (it is, however, a far better thing than my discomfort.)

getting my Breda back

I had to go out and get an exercycle because it seems every fat cell in my body has decided to relocate to my middle.

Now, I'm not making excuses here but take into account the fact that I've reached the dreaded mid-30s metabolism slowdown, add in almost year's worth of general couch potato-ness due to my accident related neck injury (and the fear of the resulting OMGPLEASESOMEBODYENDMYMISERY headaches if I dared to do too much), and toss in a lot of that relatively cheap and easy to acquire muscle relaxant (beer) and you have the perfect storm of things that will make Breda squishy in places that she doesn't like being squishy.

I also had to buy new pants. Being 5'0" tall and having curves made me hate shopping for pants for as long as I can remember. Most of the the petite section is either designed for stickfigures, have elastic waists for tiny arthritic grandmas, or are still too long, dammit. There are few choices for a woman with both an ass and a ridiculously short inseam.

So, being forced to go shopping because I've gotten squishy? Talk about incentive. I pedal, pedal, pedal until I'm sweaty and my heart is trying to pound through my sternum. Then I do some weights, some push-ups, some leg lifty type motions and then I pedal again until I just can't do any more. I listen to music, drink a lot of water, and think of the guy who rear ended me (twice). It's actually a perfect outlet for that particular rage - I think, "RAWR! I'll fight you!" type thoughts and they spur me on. That, and not having a muffin top hanging over the waistband of my jeans.

So there you have it - my "You Can Stop When You're Wobbly" workout system. I figure it's better than nothing.

grudge

Happy anniversary to the man who, one year ago today, changed my life - I hope you die in a fire.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

time didn't fly

284.

That's how many days have passed between getting rear ended (twice) and the chiropractor finally releasing me from care - saying that he's done all he can do for me, that I'll probably need treatment for the rest of my life, that I should expect flare-ups and occasional headaches, and that, oh, if only I hadn't turned my head before the second impact.

I'll always have something to remember this by - a soft tissue souvenir, if you will.

Suffice it to say, it has not been the better part of my year.

If I had to find a silver lining at all I'd have to say that it was that I've learned a lot during this time - about insurance, chiropractics, lawyers, occipital nerves, electrostim machines, and the court system. Most importantly, however, I learned a some things about myself.

Namely that there is indeed pain that I cannot tough out and that my capacity for anger is near limitless.

The former feeds the latter, you see, and perhaps someday I'll find the end...but not today.

some nerve

I had another chiropractic exam yesterday to assess my progress and I'm halfheartedly happy to report that I half-graduated. I still have to visit the nice man once a week to let him pull on my skull and make scary sounds with the vertebrae in my neck. My lower back is all good, though, so hooray.

Unfortunately all of yesterday's poking and prodding and twisting and turning have managed to anger that pesky occipital nerve and it's currently screaming at me to go lay down with an ice pack.

You know...even though it's said time heals all wounds (and I am getting better), I still think I would have preferred the 60 days house arrest the other person involved in the accident got, instead of the past 6 months of this.

Almost 100%

I'm sitting in the chiropractor's office right now, waiting on my weekly crack 'n' zap, and I just realized something...

I feel really good.

- Posted from my iPhone

Bye, bye Honda

- Posted from my iPhone

range report!

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of meeting up with fellow #gunblogger_conspirator THOTpd (Ugh, I look so sweaty. It was a million and five degrees on the range) for lunch and some shooting. I hadn't been to the range in...well...months and months but when I walked through the door, I got a big huggy hello from the guy who was working, along with a bit of good natured ribbing.

"What's up, Breda? You haven't been here in forever. Are you shooting somewhere else, don't you like us anymore?"

I mentioned how money had been a little tight lately. "Yay, economy," I said.

That got a sage nod in response - it seems everyone has been feeling it lately. Still, I was excited. All range trips are fun, but this one really felt like a treat somehow - eating cheeseburgers with a new friend and my first time shooting since getting hurt in the car accident.

After a frustrating period of fiddling around with the Ruger Mk II (failure to feed properly) I decided to put it away and shoot my Bersa. I didn't do too poorly, considering my recent lack of practice.

But, of course, there's always one that gets away...

(@ about 25 feet)

THOT brought his own Bersa, which he didn't shoot. (".380 is like gold!") But the two pistols sure look cute together, like kissing cousins. I just wonder why the trigger guards are different shapes.

I shot THOT's Springfield Champion that he brought along because he knows I'm a M1911 fan. (thank you!) It's a wonderful pistol.


I had to quit shooting before I really wanted to because my neck had started to hurt, but I had a great time anyway. I had missed shooting more than I realized.

Alignment

Its been a little over 4 months since the accident but today, I graduated. I'm finally, officially, down to just one chiropractor visit a week!


- Posted from my iPhone

update2

He showed up at court this morning (coward knew I wouldn't be there, probably) and was sentenced to 60 days house arrest, plus $764.00 in fines and court costs. Not too bad, considering he destroyed another person's property and seriously injured another human being in the process, all while breaking the law anyway.

So there you have it...justice, American-style.

I'm all out of words today. I might go paint. Or scream. Or cry. Or something.

update

Yesterday was the sentencing for the jerk who rear ended me. Twice. Then drove away. With a suspended license. In a van with expired plates. (He has pled guilty to all 5 charges)

Anyway, I went to the courthouse and waited. I talked to the probation officer, then went upstairs and waited until I was ushered into the courtroom where I waited some more.

He didn't show.

There is now a warrant out for his arrest.

anatomy for dummies

Did you know that there's this nerve in your neck and when it gets squished it creates a ceaseless agony in your head and face, causing you to alternately want to scream or cry or perhaps get so drunk you don't feel it anymore all while fantasizing about finding the bastard who rear-ended you and slowly hammering a long, thick, dull galvanized nail into the space between his eyeball and his eyebrow? Isn't the human body just amazing?

Chiropractor at lunch.

UPDATE: the man is a miracle worker.

sonofa...

I got stood up.

Blow dried my hair and everything. Dammit.

(now I'm checking the court records like I have hardcore OCD, hoping the judge issues a warrant.)

How's *this* for muchness?

Since we still only have one road worthy vehicle, I usually drive Mike to work so I can use the car during the day. Or rather, I'm the bleary absolutely-not-a-morning-person riding as the passenger until we get to his office.

Anyway, on our drive yesterday morning, there came a faint buzz and then a chirping from my back pocket. It took him a second but Mike looked at me.

"Was that you?"

"Yeah," I said. "It was my iPhone reminding me about court tomorrow." My hit (twice) and run driver was changing his plea and I wanted to watch.

Mike nodded. "....and in today's legal news, traffic court proceedings were continuously disrupted by a small, angry woman who kept leaping to her feet and yelling, 'Off with his head!"*

I smiled wryly. "I am so blogging that."

(I'll let you know how it goes.)

*I was once in a production of Alice in Wonderland. 8th grade, I think it was. I played The Duck. Don't ask.

the situation so far

Since a few people have asked how things are since the car accident (and thanks to everyone who sent those emails of support and advice), I thought I'd post an update here. There are a few factors involved, so for simplicity's sake I'll address them individually.

car - The other guy's (let's call him Timothy because, hey! That's his name!) insurance company totaled my car and then proceeded to make me an offer that was far less than what I feel it was worth. Granted my car was older, but it was paid for and it was sound - very low mileage, well maintained, new tires, clean, etc. It was a good little Honda and probably would have still served us well years from now. We don't have the money for car payments, I don't want to have to pay the deductible if we decide to go through our insurance, and it feels like I'm going to get screwed no matter what. So we're getting by on one rumbly, beat up van. It makes me sad and angry to see the Honda sitting there, completely destroyed. It's like a big green "fuck you, life sucks and you're powerless to do anything about it" symbol in my driveway...with a taillight missing and a trunk that won't close.

neck - A week after the accident, my neck hurt, my body ached, I had this weird tingly pain running down my right arm into my hand and I was having twitchy little muscle spasms down my right leg. I was in so much pain that I realized I couldn't tough it out anymore - and believe me, that's saying a lot. So I went to a chiropractor and it's been helping immensely. I feel almost back to normal now.

insurance - Timothy had some sort of high risk, "I'm a dangerous, irresponsible asshole, so this is the best coverage I could get"-type of insurance through Nationwide, who apparently hires only psychopathic weasels to handle their claims. Better than nothing, I guess, but trying to negotiate a property settlement for my car has almost driven me insane with stress and anxiety so I hired a lawyer to handle the medical/pain & suffering portion of the claim. If he only gets me one dollar over the flat fee I've agreed to pay him, it will have been worth not having to deal with the details myself.

court - I had dressed nicely, blowdried my hair, shined my shoes, and had my statement in hand. I threw up the night before from stress but no matter - I was ready. I sat in the courthouse counting neck tattoos while I waited for my particular douchebag to arrive. Timothy and his father/lawyer showed up almost an hour late only to file a continuance. He looked different than I expected but I wasn't surprised - typical baggy pants sideways ballcap 20-something who thinks he's a badass thug when really he's just an immature, stupid, eyes a little too close together mouthbreather who smokes dope, probably watches too much MTV and lives in his daddy's basement. In another circumstance, I might have pitied him.

The prosecutor brought me into his office to explain and to apologize, saying that that's the way these things go, the lawyers try to drag things out as long as possible. "But what about my statement?" I asked.

"I have the police and accident reports," he answered.

"No, not those. My statement...the one I was going to read in court today." I offered him the paper I had folded up in my purse.

He read a few lines and said, "I think this should be in the file. I'll put a case number on it, you bring it down to the clerk, and she'll add it in."

Timothy has now decided to change his original plea of not guilty.

Owie.

Along with some bone spurs from a decade old injury, a couple of spinal misalignments, and a thoroughly fascinating skeleton (I love X-rays!), I have whiplash.

See how the vertebrae in my neck are stacked so neatly straight up and down?

Yeah, well...they're supposed to be curved.

not so hot-so

I'm sorry about the state of my blog. I'm nursing a funk and haven't had the energy or the inclination to find things to write about - I glower at the news, repaint my nails every other day, take Advil, watch movies, curse at my iPhone, drink beer, and avoid any sudden movements lest I anger the muscles in my neck. I did manage some pumpkin muffins last night, adding Craisins and chopped walnuts to make myself feel better - as if a handful of dried fruit and nuts magically makes baked goods healthy.

And you know, I hate to bitch, I really do - but I've had a not-so-great week. I spent most of Monday and all of Tuesday in bed and on Wednesday, I congratulated myself on actually getting up and taking a shower. Thursday morning, I had a teensy panic attack while driving to work and on Friday, it started to snow.

I drove my hooptie to the police station for copies of the incident/accident reports, and...found a typo that had the potential to cause me to get screwed by the insurance more than I probably will already. I had to call and ask to make the necessary corrections. My conversation with the patrolman felt like this: "Hello, Officer, this the librarian from the hit/skip accident last Sunday, remember me? Well, I, umm...found a typo in your accident report. Yes, I'm editing your work, and yes, I'm the world's biggest nerd but...could you just fix it?"

I also learned that the other driver hit me the second time in his attempt to flee the scene (which would explain why the second impact felt harder than the first - he was apparently trying to accelerate through me.)

So on top of everything, I have to deal with the frustration of not being allowed to hunt the bastard down and beat the ever living shit out of him.

crashed.

That adrenaline stuff is amazing...

...until your body stops pumping it into every fiber of your being.

Two days after a man who wasn't allowed to be driving somehow managed to plow a van (twice!) into the trunk of my Honda anyway*, my muscles have mostly stopped twitching, my joints have quieted down, and I am oh, so very tired. I fantasize about big bathtubs full of hot water and Epsom salts and my own personal massage therapist. I'm ashamed to admit Mike had to drive me to work last night because I was too skittish to do it myself. I might call a chiropractor after I talk to the insurance. My car is a mess and I smell like Absorbine Jr.

And, sure - I've definitely felt worse in my life but I'm pissed off that I have to feel this way at all.

So I'm spending the day in bed, feeling tender, sore and blue, and taking comfort in my cats, a bottle of Advil, and Netflix on my EeePC.

*He was arrested for driving with a suspended license, among other things. I'm sure the judge will make it even more illegal-er for him to get behind the wheel this time. That should work.

smashed.

Sometimes it seems my entire life has happened on a certain road - part of a long stretch of pavement that runs from coast to coast. Most of the places I've worked and gone to school, and everywhere I've ever called home can be reached by using it. So since I live just a little suburb away from the one where I work, my drive to the library takes about 15 minutes, even under the worst driving conditions.

The library is open each Sunday afternoon during the winter and yesterday was my turn to hold court in the reference department. (I don't mind giving up a bit of my weekend afternoon - it's an easy four hours and I get paid time and a half. ) On my way there, I was congratulating myself for being on time, enjoying the rare warm sunshine, and thinking about trying my mom's homemade soup after work. I switched on my left turn signal and stopped in the intersection, waiting for either a break in traffic or the green arrow to allow me to proceed. I looked in my rearview mirror and saw a dark blue van coming up behind me, much too fast.

I heard his tires squeal on the pavement and then BAM! - he hit me. My car was pushed forward and then BAM! - he hit me again. I remember yelling something like, "Are you f*@%ing kidding me!?" I couldn't believe he hit me twice.

I looked up and saw that I still had the green arrow, so I turned left and pulled over. I put my hazard lights on and in my rearview mirror, I watched the van drive away...and that's when I got angry. I jumped out of my car and ran to the intersection, yelling, "Damn it, where is he? F*@%ing @$hole! Where the f*@% did he GO!?" There were witnesses everywhere - punks skateboarding in the parking lot, another librarian on her way to work, people at the gas station across the street - all of whom probably now think that I am a whirling dervish of foul language and fury.

As I was standing on the corner hollering like a madwoman, a man across the street pointed to something laying in the road - the van's license plate! I waited for a break in traffic and dashed out to claim it. "Haha!" I thought. "I've got you now, you son of a..."

The police arrived. Probably a good thing, too - I had just learned that the man in the van was hiding behind the bank across the street.

I finally noticed the damage. My hands started shaking. I made a report* (he hit me twice!) and gave the patrolman the license plate. My coworker and a man on the street came over to say they saw the whole event. I saw another police car pull over a dark van with no front plate. "That's him!" I told the patrolman. Lights and sirens. Yes, it was him.

The man was arrested on five charges and bonded out before I was even done with my shift at the library.




I was jumpy and gun-shy as I slowly rattled my way home.







*btw, when the patrolman ran my driver license and saw I had a CCW, he seemed quite pleased and supportive. So hooray for that, I guess.