Adrenaline is incredible stuff. (My mom will probably be miffed if she hears of this here first, but oh, well. Hi, Mom.) I was a passenger in a car accident last night. I'm not particularly hurt—I just got my nose royally mooshed. It's not broken, and I doubt I'll even get black eyes from this; it just hurts to do those cute little Sharon-nose-scroonching facial expressions that my friends find endearing.



Morbid fascination drives me to share the tale. There were four of us in the car (big SUV, which I think contributed to our level of non-hurtness), and we all recounted the thoughts we had during the crash. I'm always amazed at how lightning-quick one thinks during such things.



I've long thought that being involved in a car accident is inevitable as long as one is living in Austin. During our first few months here, I had a definite premonition that I would meet my fate in a horrible wreck on this city's streets. I'm not sure I'm off the hook, but if last night was my requisite accident, then I really couldn't have asked for a better one (I would have preferred less nasal involvement, but I can deal.).



It was raining, and we were on the Thoroughfare of Death—a.k.a., IH-35. Our driver was changing lanes, and he failed to see one of those stupid nigh-invisible cars. Have you seen these? These idiots get a black car, tint the windows, and shade the lights; they're hard to see in the best of conditions. They piss me off. So Driver didn't see the car, and we alerted him to its presence, and he swerved.



In a town that hardly knows rain, roads are never washed off. Rainy days in Austin are more treacherous than snowy days in PA. ...Partly because Austinites have no idea how to adjust their driving for the conditions or how to recover from a skid. And SUVs have a lot of mass to try and convince to change directions.



We spun at least 360 degrees. Earlier on that trip, we'd passed a few tractor-trailers; where they all were at that moment, I don't know, but some higher power loves us. It's worth pointing out that, although IH-35 is a highway, it is never empty; it's the main north-south artery of the city. Nobody hit us.



We did, however, hit the guard rail head-on, and that's what did in my poor nosey. I knew the impact was coming, so I just relaxed (Jon kept his eyes open and detachedly watched the highway spin by. *shudder*). When we did hit, it was like a champagne bottle being opened: a pop, and then a sense of released pressure. Here's where adrenaline comes into play: it was blessedly pain free for many minutes.



Our driver reacted commendably quickly and got us safely onto the shoulder. Some nice young men witnessed the crash and stopped to see if we were okay, which we were, all in all. We pulled off and bled our way into a Taco Cabana. And then I stopped being in shock, and it hurt a whole freakin' lot.



But after ice and pain-killers and comforters and friendly conversation, even that subsided, and I have depressingly little to show for my ordeal.



Which is just fine with me, really.

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