DEJA VHUT? (OH NO, NOT AGAIN?)

La-di-da, no one coming...I proceed on.

Air molecules dissolve, airbags explode, car spins 180 and shudders to a stop. I can't move, seconds pass, out of the corner of my eye I see someone driving in slow motion, staring into the window, making a call. A few beats later I hear, "Oh, I was wrong... she's a lot older than I told you!"

Thanks alot, bitch, just what I needed to hear! This is my first thought after I start thinking again. My brain is working. What a relief!

The only thing I can feel is pain shooting through my back, right where I fell 2 years ago, in Joshua Tree. It's deja vu all over again. Oh no! Not again!

The truck rammed me on the driver's side. For some reason this kind of accident is called a T-bone, as if it's somehow connected to a cow, but how? No cows here.

But I wouldn't mind if there were more cows and less cars. Life would be easier. Life would not be this urban nightmare. Yes, more cows, less cars and while we're at it, how about no cars! No cars, no cell phones, no computers, no cops, except the ones directing the cows. 

 

But back to my immediate situation. Someone's cutting away the airbags and reaching inside to pull me out of the car and into an ambulance.

On the way to the hospital, I experience a case of deja vu; wasn't I just here a second ago on my way to the ER in Palm Springs? Where am I? I should call someone, wait a second, I don't have my phone. Oh NO!

Once at the hospital, I'm wheeled into a room, nurses come and go, something's pumped into my veins. I wait. After more waiting, a young boy wheels me to another room, a room that looks strangely familiar.

Are we at the airport?

Inside the black hole, a warm flow of dye curses through my body and I panic!

The robot is right, 30 seconds later and it's over. I'm wheeled back to my room.

I call a friend, who brings food and, remarkably, my phone from the shop. The doctor reads me his report in a somber tone (perhaps he's falling asleep as he talks, an overextended resident) and I'm finally released. I'm anxious to get home. I insist my friend drive slowly, take all the side streets, avoid the freeway, go ten blocks out of her way, and before it's morning, I'm home!

***

Talking to a friend a few days later, I tell her everything's okay, but I'm damaged. A fracture in my lower lumbar and cotton balls floating in my brain. I'm back in bed, not able to walk further than the bathroom, and trying to put a sentence together is....is... what... searching searching....right word where, ah there...impossible. I'm not suppose to think, not suppose to read on a screen, not suppose to tax my brain. 

"Well, that's a good thing for the next few years, don't you think?" my friend says. 

I laugh. It's the first laugh since the accident. We both find hilarious the idea of being slightly brain damaged as a useful strategy for getting through the Trump years. Maybe there's a silver lining after all.

THE END.

This accident happened 7 weeks ago. I complained a lot during my recovery, mostly about how long it was taking to get better; most days it felt like I was going backwards. I'd attempt some activity, like walking to the mailbox, and end up back in bed for two days. But today, recovery is almost in reach, walking, thinking, almost normal again. I still wonder why that jerk had to race through a light that had already turned red, but that's LA. Could I really live where there are no cars, no cell phones, no computers, no cops....I don't think so, but the thought is tempting, especially the idea of skipping through daisies in a field of cows. Throw in a few wild foxes and I think I'd be happy. But what is happiness in the age of Trump, an existential question I hope to explore in 2018.

Here's wishing you, dear reader, a Happy New Year and a very good year. Let's get out there in 2018, knock on some doors, make a few hundred calls, talk to strangers, and bring those mother fuckers in Congress down. That's all i can say from this end of the nightmare, but still alive to say it.