Eventually, Wednesdays will (I hope!) become recipe days. Or at the very least, FOOOOOD days. Because (honestly) most of my recipes just involve rooting around in the refrigerator, throwing anything good I find in a pot, and pouring it over brown rice or whole-wheat pasta.
Anyways. This week I have something MUCH more interesting to relate. So pull up a floor pillow and I will magically read you the book AND show you the pictures at the same time (seriously, didn't you always wonder how your kindergarten teacher could do that?) . . .
(By the way, the little squatty guy represents where I got hit by the car.)
Monday morning. I'm running east on Central at about 7:40 a.m. (you know, before the UNGODLY heat set in). I hadn't brought my sunglasses, so I had my hat pulled low over my eyes to keep the sun out of my face. In other words, I can't see much more than five feet in front of me. I'm crossing a driveway (and there are like a dozen driveways there) when I notice that there is a car RIGHT NEXT TO MY FREAKIN' LEGS. My first thought is "What a jackass, stopping so close to me like that!"
But then I realize that he isn't stopping. I'm still running, trying to get past the front bumper of his car, and start banging on the hood and saying, "HEY! I'M HERE! STOP!" But still doesn't see me (um, or hear me, wtf). I look through the windshield, and he has his head turned right and his attention focused that-a-way.
He does NOT see me.
And all this time, the car's still moving forward, and I'm still trying to get past him. Finally, his car nudges my legs out from under me, I go tumbling over the hood, and land on my right hand. Still doesn't stop. I see him turn left into one of those driveways on the south side of Central (I was on the north sidewalk), and I'm still standing there, giving the now-empty road this look like, "What the fuck, jackass?!"
A lady pulled into one of the driveways--she'd seen the whole thing--and asked if I was okay. And I was. But I was MAD. It's a good thing he didn't stop, because I was not in the mood to say anything very nice, and I don't think that would have made the situation any better (even though it was totally well-deserved). But as it was, I didn't have to worry about it, so I just ran the rest of the way back to the gym.
Later that day, I went to the police department to file a report. And they said that he had called in his side of the report also, so I guess he wasn't a jackass after all. I figure he probably turned around and came back, but by that time I was already gone. I have his phone number (the police gave it to me). Now I just need to figure out what the hell to say to someone who ran over me with his car.
I have a little bruise on my index finger, a big bruise on my elbow, and the right side of my neck and shoulder is really tight (I landed on my right arm when I dove over the hood of his car)--knotted up all over. I was sort of freaked out once my neck tightened up like that (didn't happen until yesterday morning), but it's starting to fade away now (helped along by my awesome masseuse), so I think that it's all superficial. I don't have health insurance right now, so I'll have to call the guy who hit me and figure out that whole mess so I can go get the ol' neck looked at.
Also I have a blister on the little toe of my right foot. But that is unrelated :-)
And that, boys and girls, is the story of the second time I've been hit by a car. Both times I've been remarkably lucky. Let's hope that there's no "third time's a charm" principle at work here.