This morning, on my way to work someone ran a red light.
It wasn’t me.
Luckily, I wasn’t in the intersection a second sooner, or I probably wouldn’t be blogging this morning.
I’m still pretty shaken up. I didn’t even see the guy coming, and when he hit me, I had to sit there for a second, checking to be sure that the light was actually green for me (it was), and that I hadn’t screwed up in some way.
The worst part about the whole thing is how utterly alone I felt. I didn’t know who to call or what to do. I handled it—because I had to. I talked to the police and the tow truck guy. I called my insurance company. I walked back to my apartment (I was only about a mile from home). But it would have been nice to have someone there with me. It would have been nice to have someone give me a hug and tell me everything was going to be ok.
What I’m not happy about is that I called him. I did call Danielle first, but she couldn’t come right away, and I was so freaked out that I just wanted someone there. And of course, he didn’t answer. I left a message that I was in a car accident and didn’t know who else to call. And he didn’t even call back. I know it’s just another indication of what a jerk he is—I mean, what kind of person gets a message like that and doesn’t respond?—but it still hurt. And I didn’t need that on top of the accident.
So I guess today I’ll be figuring out a rental car, talking to the insurance company some more, and trying to shake this stirred-up feeling.
Sorry if this seems all over the place. Guess I’m still feeling a little out of sorts.
Hope your day is going better than mine . . .