Daily Journal, May 2, 2009

Last night I was in a hideous car crash. In the pouring rain, my car skidded to avoid a bicycler and I careened over a steep cliff. I felt absolute terror the moment I realized the car was going to flip, and I braced myself for the impact, already beginning to cry.

The next thing I knew I was seated on the side of the road, scraped, bruised and mangled, surveying the wreckage all around me. My crash had apparently started a chain of events involving four more cars and numerous other individuals. We all sat, in various states of injury, waiting for the ambulances to arrive. I knew that the accident was my fault, and I watched some of those around me fade out to death, I knew I would wear this responsibility like a scarlet letter for the rest of my life.

Paramedics began to arrive, shuttling the wounded to the nearest hospital, sirens screaming as they left.

My ambulance never came.

But Scott did.

He arrived in the nick of time, whisked me to the hospital and made sure I was taken care of. He was the one to call my parents, to take care of the insurance paperwork. He talked to the ER doctors about my injuries, treatment and recovery. He held my hand while I gave a statement to the police.

All of this happened while I slept next to my husband. My perfect, gorgeous, understanding, funny, amazing husband.

So what does it mean that I had a dream about making a complete mess of things, and Scott being there to clean it up?

I have some theories.

I’m sure a good shrink would, too.