last week i smashed up my car a little. but the thing about a little smash is that a little smash can cost a lot of money; $3500 in this case. horrific.
what happened: i was backing out of a parking stall in the mall after and i turned too quickly. there was a crunch and the mirror dangled and i bawled. hysterically. like a toddler losing their mind in the grocery store.
why i was crying: the accident. yes, that is the obvious. but there are other things: things that make me sad to think of them (a breakup); things that make my wallet sad (the car and my slowly dying computer); and things that make me ache (loneliness and an bubbling, gurgling homesickness).
(once upon a time (june) i blogged a breakup because that dude was a racist and a misogynist and I didn't have a second thought about talking about that publicly... i NEVER want to see him again -that is also why i broke up with him via email - i couldn't ever look at him or hear his voice ever again... heck, some pals even made an improv show about it one time - that was weird... but this new guy, this incredible dude: never. some things are too... quiet.)
why i was at the mall: i hate malls. i sort of like shopping when it's with fun people or for records. i have been known to buy myself presents when i feel sad (yesterday, a book) but when i am at my lowest i venture to the mall because it feels so oddly safe there. a coffee and a wander and i am among my lonely brethren bustling about stores for nothing we really need. boots and tv on dvd to help mask how totally alone we all are. you catch glimpses: good samaritans; bad citizens; gentlemen/ladies and criminals; parents at their best (and worst); lost souls. people staring blankly at cat imprinted cardigans reveal an odd truth when i am at my saddest. i hope they see it in me too.
but the cops: in alberta one is required to report ANY accident to the police where the resulting damage is over $2000. i was sort of surprised by this because really? i got in a fight with a concrete post, not a human or a car... why do the cops need to know? are they going to get witness and victim testimony from the pole? the only witness to the incident were the people who saw the hysterics that resulted.
the hysterics: this was the kind of crying that we long for but rarely get. sobbing, drenching tears that leave your face looking like an allergic reaction and your head pounding like a kick drum. it's so fucking satisfying. i had been waiting for this kind of cry all month and it wasn't coming - for all that was happening i hadn't cried - and when it came, it came in waves of wracking release. i was so grateful for the tears that in the middle of the sobbing i laughed with as much force as the tears. granted, the laughing only made me cry more but when it was done i felt so good. for a moment. that's the thing about those kind of tears, they are only satisfying as they are happening. afterwards you wish you'd never felt it or that you could feel it forever... kind of like sex?
the cops: i think i have authority issues. i mean, i KNOW i have authority issues but christ, what is with the police. does it make them feel good to be dick heads to people? i know that when they signed up for the police force they never hoped to be riding a desk dealing with girls who crash into concrete poles but seriously what gives them the license to be absolutely repellent dicks? "why don't you fill this out with a story about your good driving." FUCKER.
that one time: there was this one time when i had a run in with the cops and i think it's possibly the run in that secured my absolute distaste for all things meant to "serve and protect" me. i was in grade 8 (maybe 9) and dressed like as weird courtney love/cher horowitz/wanna-be riot grrrl hybrid and some boys in my class broke into an absent teachers filing cabinet and stole some... candy! being the chubby candy freak i was (am) i ate one of those candies. as a result of my lack of self control i was "spoken to" by the police who informed me that eating that candy was my first step down a path to a life of crime and prison wifedom. they tossed around phrases like "accessory to theft"... i knew it was nonsense and when i finally played along and took my suspension like the good little juvenile deliquent i wished i was i immediately called my parents and told them what happened... obviously they knew, and i knew, that it was COMPLETELY illegal and inappropriate for the police to question their MINOR daughter without them present and once my mom got ahold of the principle my suspension was lifted. that is my sole legit encounter with the police.
pretty badass, right?
the question: but what came first the chicken or the sass? do i get my guard up and get sassy because i expect the cop to be a dick and he responds in kind to my sass or do i get my guard up and get sassy because they are, in fact, generally dicks? the truth is i have never been in any serious trouble with the police in my life. i have always bought drugs from dear friends, never been arrested and have expressed my rebellious discontentment with the world in less illegal (though potentially more morally ambiguous) ways.
the answer: i don't have a fucking clue. are chicken/egg questions ever answerable? isn't that one of life's great conundrums?