There has been a Formspring question waiting patiently for days...I'll get there--I have my sights set on tomorrow.
I realize that this is going to sound totally ludicrous, given the fact that not only is this a blog, but I'm posting this on it.
I was in a car accident about a year and a half ago. An uninsured woman rear-ended me and drove off. It was sooo not my bad.
Our insurance company was absolutely. Downright. Horrifically. Evil.
I'm the kind of person a car insurance company loves because:
I made it to work on time the day of the accident.
I didn't care that I could barely move--I did not miss one single day of work.
I had high expectations of my body's ability to "get over it" fairly quickly (body happened to really disagree there).
I prefer the approach that there isn't a single thing I can't do since the accident--just unacceptable levels of pain for various activities. Apparently my idea of "unacceptable" is equatable to non-functioning.
And I had absolutely no idea that my insurance company was under the impression that they were Not there to pay bills in the event that their services were actually needed for more than processing our monthly payments to them. Despite the fact that our policy does cover uninsured motorists.
I was extremely naive about the position they were going to take.
We ended up with a lawyer. Now I'm getting to my point, promise.
He wanted me to keep a diary. He said "Write about the pain, depression, how it impacted intimacy, the things you don't do."
Those are intensely personal and private things.
I know right, did I really just type those words into the same blog where I have talked about getting pissed on?
I think that part of it is how very nasty the insurance company was. And they, of course, will receive a copy of said diary.
The other part is that they are personal.
Pain that occupies my mind and wreaks havoc on my daily life is personal; the feelings I have about it are personal; the fact that my husband can't grab me by the throat, throw me against the wall, and fuck me like I'm disposable...Is personal.
The lawyer called me yesterday and requested the diary. I have accumulated more in medical bills than I make in a good year, and it's time to settle the case.
Between the stupid diary, the amount of medical bills, and the prospect of having to deal with the insurance company, I'm having a moment...That seems to be lasting a bit beyond the definition of "Moment."
So I sent the diary. I have a feeling he's going to be slightly disappointed because after all, I am the kind of person that an insurance company loves.
And I never really did figure out how to say that my sex life was fucked because I'm a kinky little kitten and I like it rough.