I consider myself a fairly safe driver. I don’t behave unpredictably. I use my turn signals, and have a good mental map of all the turn-only lanes. I never talk on the phone while I’m driving. I’m good at anticipating what other drivers are about to do. I share the road with cyclists and pedestrians. I don’t run over squirrels.
But put me in a parking lot, with not enough sleep and too much on my mind, and I apparently become a real danger to stationary objects. The first time I took my driving test, I flunked it because I hit a cone during the parking portion of the test. Sheila has seen me run into a building (well, a trailer, really) at zero miles an hour.
When Robb’s family was visiting, right after Robb’s accident, I took them up to see the view from the Berkeley hills, and rammed the front bumper of my car into a huge log at the end of the parking lot. When Erica visited, I scraped the side of my bumper against a concrete pillar in the parking lot of the Oakland Farmer’s Market.
Today, at the Safeway, I backed right into an SUV. I hardly slept the night before due to mysterious stomach cramps. Goodness knows what I was thinking about, or where I was looking. Luckily, there was no damage done to the other woman’s car. She was dismayed by, but astonishingly forgiving of, my stupidity.
And there I was, sobbing like an idiot in the parking lot of the grocery store. I haven’t cried one tear during this whole experience. Not during the hours of surgery on his spine. Not when we didn’t know if Robb would ever walk at all. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t find the occular faucet.
(I was really worried about this at first, and Madelyn told me that I was okay, and that one day when I wasn’t expecting it, I would find my tears. She told me that maybe, in about a year, I would be doing something really normal, and Robb would come into the room, and I would just start ot cry.)
I got myself under control. Drove home, very carefully, thrust the groceries at Robb, and went into the shower to cry.
And when did this blog become all about me, anyway?
I suppose that since Robb is dis-inclined to write very often, and because there hasn’t been a whole lot to report in terms of changes in his physical condition, I’ve been writing more and more about myself. I blame the digital camera, and the fact that I’m actually somewhat uncomfortable speaking for Robb. Sorry. I’m sure that anybody who is concerend about the state of Robb’s recovery must get sick of my stupid wildflower pictures.