Yesterday, I read-ended someone while driving to work. Argg. Sudden stop, wet pavement, I couldn't stop in time. The cop just told us to move along. His car was fine, mine, uh, crunched but drivable. This is the 4th time this car has been in an accident. Usually not my fault. All but the right side has been hit. Sheesh. Is my car too small, too blue, too optimistic? Little Honda Fit, I always think my car is chuckling as she drives along, perky and peppy. So now it's back to the collision place again and o joy, a rental Buick or some such horror car. All I'm gonna do is drive to the retreat center on Friday, park it and come home again the following Thursday. When hopefully, my car will be ready.
I now appeal to the car/driving gods for surcease. I think that's the right word. In other words, quit it.
My old girlfriend called her beat-up Datsun Dottie. Dottie the Datsun. Maybe I need to give my car a name for protection. Atilla? Gandolf? Warrior Princess?
Now I feel all weird too, body-wise. Neck and lower back. Plus the creeping fall gloom is coming. Depression land, Fall is hard, folded back in on myself.