melancholyBut Heaven punishes those who encourage delinquincy. As I was driving home down highway 85, I got into a collision by the Union exit. I was driving a bit too fast and couldn't brake in time when a car (a Ford Mustang no less) suddenly stopped. I swerved to the left in an attempt to avoid it, but I wasn't in the clear so I hit the car's left corner and spun it around at me. The Mustang's front left tire slammed into my left passenger door, denting it and shattering the window. (Of course, this happened so fast I didn't know it's what happened. It's what the CHP told me afterwards.) I was unhurt but badly shaken, and couldn't drive away. It took hours to get everyting taken care of...when I finally made it home I was on the phone for hours, first with insurance people and then to arrange rides with friends. I knew if I stopped talking to people, I'd probably start crying, so I just kept calling everyone I knew.
It's a funny thing. My pride refuses to let me cry in front of others. I guess it is a proof of absolute trust if I should cry in front of another...hmm. Yucky. I hate it either way, so I usually save tears for nights when I'm alone, and in the wee hours when it became to late to talk to others I kept babbling to a teddy bear so I wouldn't feel the tears running down my face.
Shut up. I hate being such a weakling, but I miss my Donatello.
