Post Script
I've started to have flashbacks from last night's accident. Things I didn't remember happening. I woke from a nap screaming.
I was stone cold sober. Blew a 0.0. It was raining, the roads wet - oily-slick from weeks without. I drove by the spot this evening. Walked it. Picking up pieces. I don't remember it. I see the oil slicks. The distance between the tree I hit and where the car ended up. I went by to check on the car and get whatever belonging I had left. If someone was in the passenger seat they'd be dead. And I'd be alive.
I have a concussion. A bruised spleen. Bruised ribs and sternum. Cuts and abrasions. I hurt. I look like I've been in a fight. A fight with an airbag, glass, torn sheet metal and plastic.
It happened so fast. On a slight curve I've driven hundreds of times. I lost minutes. I don't know how long I was in the front seat until I found myself outside. I must have been a sight. I remember the cop telling me I was bleeding. There are blood stains on my shoes. My shirt. I don't remember calling str8-chick best friend but she said I did. Did I call anyone else?
The flashbacks are frightening. Everything spinning. Crunching. Giving way. Glass. Dust. A foot or two either way and I'd likey not be so well off.
I was stone cold sober. Blew a 0.0. It was raining, the roads wet - oily-slick from weeks without. I drove by the spot this evening. Walked it. Picking up pieces. I don't remember it. I see the oil slicks. The distance between the tree I hit and where the car ended up. I went by to check on the car and get whatever belonging I had left. If someone was in the passenger seat they'd be dead. And I'd be alive.
I have a concussion. A bruised spleen. Bruised ribs and sternum. Cuts and abrasions. I hurt. I look like I've been in a fight. A fight with an airbag, glass, torn sheet metal and plastic.
It happened so fast. On a slight curve I've driven hundreds of times. I lost minutes. I don't know how long I was in the front seat until I found myself outside. I must have been a sight. I remember the cop telling me I was bleeding. There are blood stains on my shoes. My shirt. I don't remember calling str8-chick best friend but she said I did. Did I call anyone else?
The flashbacks are frightening. Everything spinning. Crunching. Giving way. Glass. Dust. A foot or two either way and I'd likey not be so well off.