You'd think it was slippery or something

Two accidents in less than 12 hours. Six car spin out on the way home at 9:30 p.m. that I also COULDN'T stop for . . . which is why people were spinning I suppose. Mr. Crabbypants gave me snowtires for the skunk car, the only reason I didn't spin as well. But a nice big patch of black ice last night under the overpass at Telegraph. Skating cars. Whee. And no, I didn't stop.

Less than twelve hours later, after a particularly wonderful morning of sickness and computer glitches, I'm driving late to my meeting (I had called to say I would be late and therefore not speeding) and a Jeep Cherokee spins and breaks into pieces. I see the air bags go off and stop. No one else does. 911 asks me questions that I cannot answer . . . the lady looks fine, no blood, but the air bags are spilling their smoky powder and I tell her not to move. "What should we send?" the dispatcher inquires. I am standing on a now obviously icy freeway, next to a car in the path of other irritated motorists. Antifreeze is dripping. Plastic is crunching. "I don't know. Probably an ambulance? At least a cop car." And I don't know. The Cherokee is facing oncoming traffic. The lady doesn't look hurt, but she's shaking.

The dispatcher says I don't have to stay but I do . . . talking to the woman, telling her that it's going to be okay. She doesn't know what happened. How her car landed here. It occurs to me that I should somehow get the SUV off the freeway. I peer underneath the car at the puddle of antifreeze. Doesn't look like the whole radiator. I've done much worse. And I realize the car is on, still running. Could have blown us both up by now, especially if we were to get hit by another person not paying attention and then trying to stop. "Turn on your hazards. And after this truck passes, can you pull slightly forward and then back up to get the car off the road." I am standing on the freeway, over the white line, feeling the whoosh of air was cars speed pass, swerving to avoid the Cherokee.

"Is it still running?" she asks. Before she fully understands what I'm telling her to do, the sheriff's deputy arrives. Dismisses me quickly. I walk to my car, fifty yards up. Turn off my hazard lights. Drive off as three full-size fire trucks pull up. I guess that's what the dispatcher meant when she said "I'll just send everything." And I feel a twinge of guilt. As if I could have made the call about what to bring. I certainly knew that they didn't need three firetrucks. Well, at least the car won't get hit again, which was my most immediate fear. And H. seemed kind of out of it . . . but we had just met, so I can't really make an assessment. People react differently to totalling their cars. She did say that she wanted to be checked out. Which was nice, to be in agreement. Hope she is alright.

And now I'm hesitant to drive home. And I was driving to my meeting thinking about being cursed . . . but my car wasn't smashed and I didn't have three fire trucks, which I'm sure someone has to pay for . . . so I'm going home, doing a little work for school and then working out. Might be a treadmill and weight day. I'm kind of tense.