thank you, Kristin, for putting up that blurb for me.

thanks, everyone, for your hugs and prayers and well-wishes.

My brother and I are okay. His car is fucking wrecked, but Jettas are sturdy little shits with good airbags and we're both all right. His arm is fucked up, bruised and scraped but not broken; we have identical contusions on our left thumbs. I have lovely flower-colored bruises on my knees where they hit the dash, and rug burn from the airbag deploying.

I still have glass and metal and plastic dust all over me, and I'm never going to forget the way the air tastes after an airbag hits your face. Never. This was just a refresher.

I don't think I ever want to drive a car. On the ride home that Erica gave us, my nails were biting into the plastic door handle. I'm sore and tired and headachey and hungry and scared, I want my daddy to be home right now please, I want today to go back to about 1:30 when Tom offered to drive me to the bank and I should have accepted.

But mostly I'm just glad that my little brother and I are okay.

(when we climbed out of the wreck he was so pissed he threw his hat on the ground and forgot to pick it up when the paramedics got him. he was sure he'd never see it again. we drove by the crash site, on the street I live on, and it was still lying on the grass. I got out and got it for him.)

I'm going to take a shower and have dinner and tylenol.

eta: Okay. The ultimate asskicker of this day? Once I got out of the shower I ate one, ONE SINGLE, chocolate munchkin donut.

And I choked on it.

Clearly, my life is far too stupid to go on.