Oh, where to start? What a couple of days I've had. Sometimes I just have to wonder about my luck. On the other hand, sometimes I have to realize that I am damn lucky.

So. I was hit. And I'll leave this journal entry to that.

Yep. Car crash. Vroom, vroom...fun.

And it was one of those really annoying scenarios. A million little decisions could have changed my being in *that* place at *that* time. But fate and all that nonsense played out and I was rear ended Friday morning at the grocery store.

Blah.

I took Friday off for my floating holiday. We had the choice of the 22nd or the 26th. Most people chose the 26th because, obviously, it's the day after Christmas. I decided on the 22nd, though, because it would be a perfect time to bake cookies with my mom. We take a day off work ritually in December to bake and this year, since I was low on vacation time, the floating holiday came in handy.

However, even though I was off on the 22nd, I still wanted to attend the Holiday Breakfast our photography studio hosts. The photographers make omelettes to order, fresh pancakes, waffles, fruit. They go all out and I wanted to attend. So, before heading to my mothers, I went with some coworkers to the breakfast. And because the studio is on the East side of town (which is closer to my mother), I packed up all my baking supplies and the dog so I could head right to mom's after breakfast.

And breakfast *was* really good. I had a very evil omelette, tons of fresh melon. I chatted with my coworkers and, an hour later, I was back in my car ready to head to my mother's. Still, before leaving, I needed to pick up some chocolate for the truffles we wanted to make. And since I was on the East side, I was toying with: Woodmans or Copps? Woodmans or Copps? Woodmans is usually cheaper -- so I decided to go there.

As I was turning into the store at approximately 9:30 am, I heard a thunderous noise and looked in my rear view mirror only to see my trunk flying up and my dog sliding forward (luckily her seat belt was one).

Damn!

I was hit.

Before I could think further, I pulled my car across the street when there was a break in traffic. My seat belt was still holding me firmly from the crash and I came to a stop in the rear parking lot of the grocery store. I unbuckled my seat belt, checked the dog and finally got out to survey the damage. The back of my car was pretty much cracked up. My trunk hood was pushed inches back from it's original resting place and all my lights were shattered. I looked across the street to see who hit me. All that was there was this huge, Laidlaw transit van. It didn't look damaged and I started to wonder if it was a hit and run. Then I noticed the grill of the vehicle was a little messed up. Yep. That's who hit me.

When the lady finally crossed the street, parked her car and got out, she was shaken up and babbling. I was pretty crabby and upset and did little to comfort her. All I could think about was that I was supposed to go to Cambridge, that I was supposed to pick James up from the bus that evening, that I was supposed to *move* in less than two weeks. I was worried about how I'd get home. I was worried that I didn't have a cell phone. I was worried about my dog and I could care less about this woman and her van and the place she worked for. I feel badly now that I was not more understanding but, at the time, I was in shock and upset. She'd ruined my holiday and now I didn't have a car.

It wasn't until 10:45-11am that a police officer finally arrived. The roads were slick that morning because of the cold temperatures even though no snow had fallen. The police were responding to injury accidents first so we had to wait.

The accident was purely the other driver's fault. We exchanged insurance information, the cop gave me a number for the police report and called a tow truck which arrived about a half hour later. During the entire time, I would burst into tears for no apparent reason. I don't know why I was so upset but every time I would start to mention moving or having plans with my mother, my eyes would well up and I'd try to advert my face so no one would see just what a wreck I was. I was just so bummed that this happened right before Christmas. The tow truck man wasn't much help either because he just kept telling me how backed up all the body shops were.

Sienna was upset, too. For a dog that is deathly afraid of trucks, actually getting into a tow truck was probably the bravest thing she ever did. She just hovered on the floor the entire ride to the body shop looking up occasionally just to check to see if I was still there.

You'd think things would get better once I got to the body shop, but they didn't. In fact, it was more like a comedy of errors. I was weepy at the drop of a hat, my dog was pulling and wanting to greet everyone who walked in the door. When, finally I was given a "guy", they called me a cab, gave me his business card and told me it could be hours before he got to an estimate. One of the receptionists walked me back to my car so I could get my belongings. I clumsily tried to grab everything I thought I'd need. Only... the bags with my stuff began to break. Handles came off. One bag ripped. The receptionist ran back to get me some new bags and a box. It was really quite pitiful. It would figure I'd get hit when my car was loaded down with shit. Ugh.

The cab finally arrived and we packed the trunk with my stuff. Sienna jumped in the back seat and I began to calm down. Still, when the driver started to question me about my accident, I got all weepy again. I was pissed at myself for being so upset. It really wasn't *that* big of a deal. But I was upset and frustrated and I just wanted to go home.

When we arrived at my apartment, it took me three trips to the cab to get everything that was mine. The lady was nice, wished me luck and as soon as I closed the door to my apartment, I began to bawl.

And bawl.

And bawl.

I cried for my stupid, wrecked car. I cried for my confused dog. I cried about my ruined "floating" holiday and the fact that I had to work when everyone else had theirs AFTER Christmas. I cried about not baking cookies with my mom. I cried about not having a car to pick James up in. And I cried about not being nicer to the lady who hit me.

I cried about the fact that I chose to go to Woodmans instead of Copps and I cried about the fact that I packed myself up to drive straight to my mom's instead of driving back to the apartment after breakfast. And, mostly, I just cried because it was Christmas and I was in a crummy accident.

I also cried because I was crying.

By now it was noon. Once I settled myself down, I checked my messages. Both James and my mom were calling because I'd made attempts to reach them from pay phones at the grocery store. Five bucks in quarters got me nothing but voice mail and they were both worried.

Before calling them back, though, I called my insurance lady first. She gave me my options, told me I should get a rental and basically convinced me that, yes, everything would be okay even if it is a bit of a hassle. The other driver was clearly at fault. And I had the choice of trying to go through the other driver's insurance or just using State Farm (mine) and having them work on getting reimbursed. I'd have to pay a deductible, but I'd get my money back eventually

James was comforting. He told me to arrange for a rental and he'd see me that night.

My mom was worried and wanted to come and pick me up. I told her I would get a rental instead. I'd eventually drive out there once I got that dealt with.

I called Enterprise nervously. Considering it was the holidays, I didn't know if anything would be available. They had a car for me in 15 minutes. They even drove it out to my apartment. Renting a car has never been easier even though I'm trying to overlook the fact that I have a crummy Chevy Malibu instead of my Big Ole Bonnie.

Once I had wheels, everything seemed much easier and I was chastising myself for being such a baby. I ate lunch. I stopped at the grocery store (where ironically the Ghiridelli chocolate was *not* any more expensive which is why I wanted to go to Woodman's in the first place) and I headed to Cambridge to see my mom. I got there at 4pm, approx. 6 hours later than I was originally supposed to arrive.

Mom and I decided to roll with the punches. We didn't have all day, but we could bake a few batches of cookies. Baking makes everything okay, right?

But something was wrong. My comedy of errors continued and my cookie prospects were futile. I ruined a batch of Peanut Butter Kisses. My cookies spread instead of staying in nice little balls so that when I went to take them out of the oven, no Hershey's Kisses could be placed on top. Then we decided to bake Date Balls only to discover a blade from my mother's food processor was missing: there would be no chopped dates for us. Finally, I started a batch of Pecan Sandies which seemed promising. Yet, as I rolled the last of the cookies out on the sheets, I noticed the full bag of pecans that I had forgotten to add.

Shit.

Pecan Sandies without pecans.

The batch we cooked sucked and we threw the rest out.

We decided we'd better stop there. Instead we went out to dinner and drank wine. There would be no screwing that up.

*Sigh*

What a day....

In the end, I'm okay. My dog's okay. And I do have a rental. My Christmas holiday went fairly well and my life has gone on pretty much as scheduled besides the minor insurance/body shop/car issues. So, my luck was a little crummy. So, I probably won't get my car back for 4 to 6 weeks. So, I'll have to drive from the cities to pick it up when it *is* ready. I still have my health and my husband and my dog. And, really, isn't that all I really need?

Stay tuned: I still have more tales about Christmas, work and how I chopped off 5 inches of my hair. If only I had the time to type it all out.