The driver said she was looking for an address for an interview she was late for, and I believe her.
Unfortunately she didn't have car insurance or a driver's license (I'm not sure which is worse in the eyes of Johnny Law), but it didn't really matter as she left the scene just before the police arrived. She did give me a social security card, though it now seems as if it was someone else's card, the officer that made the report stopped by our house to see if a picture of the true owner of the card was the woman who hit us, it wasn't.
There is a bit of damage that we'll have to eat the cost of repairs for.
I've been fragile lately.
Before I tic, a lot of times I get a sensation not unlike a charlie-horse in the back of my head. For the better part of this year, when I'm particularly down I've also had the sensation that my skull is quickly expanding inwards at the same place, sort of choking out my brain. I can't shake the feeling anyway other than by going to sleep, sometimes a couple hours of napping does the trick, and sometimes it takes a couple naps of that length.
After the accident we didn't have much time before an appointment with my psychiatrist. He may be my favorite doctor ever, and I've had some good ones (Danielle doesn't care much for the story about the young doctor telling me I had a runner's body while she put a catheter in, but I'm going to keep telling it until my dying day, it will only get better as I need a cane, and then a walker, and then a wheel chair). I used to see this doctor at the Cleveland Clinic, but I now see him at the free clinic.
The free clinic is actually really great, pretty much exactly what you imagine socialized medicine to be - far less paperwork than a normal appointment, and you walk out having paid nothing, and with a pile of medicine. I didn't feel the least bit rushed, which isn't the case when a 40 minute appointment costs $480 with the same doctor, just blocks away on the same street.
At any rate, I was at my worst for the appointment, too far gone to talk most of the appointment. In some ways I'm very thankful the doctor got to see me in that state. He started me on another medication, my third anti-psychotic to go along with a pair of anti-depressants (I'm not taking them all at once). I'm not wild about being on all of these drugs, but the worst side effect of the newest one is that it dries me out. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with my tongue stuck to the top of my mouth, sure that when I free it, a piece of tongue-skin will still remain, not unlike a scrap of tissue paper accidentally glued to an elementary school arts and crafts project.



























