hallelujah

Over the weekend, I was melted and crushed, only not in that order.

Thursday and Friday were such big days in the clinic that afterward, I felt like I'd been hit by a truck. But that didn't come until the next night, when I was navigating home after a promising night out with new friends. Through Seattle I ventured, down diagonal downtown streets, until one unknowingly illegal left turn later (Texas, meet Seattle, but first hold onto your fucking britches), and SMACK. A Ford truck - or maybe it was a Dodge...my head was spinning and pulsating too fast to really notice - at 30 mph, bit into my little Camry, and gave my upper body a good jarring.

Fifteen minutes of shock later, after trading insurance info with the other driver and double-checking that I was not fatally wounded, I found myself in the midst of a post-adrenalin-surge emotional eruption. Upset, in disbelief, frustrated that I could have let this stupid shit happen, and worrying about my already-been-through-eight-car-crashes poor little neck, I was a complete mess. So, to try and ameliorate the first signs of the inevitable whiplash soreness that would soon follow, I rigged myself a cervical collar outta frozen fruit and masking tape:

freaked out, but smelling fruity.

...and after a good laugh at the ridiculousness of sticking blueberries and pineapple to my neck, and the realization that I could get x-rayed and adjusted at work on Monday, that my atlas would eventually be just fine, and that it could have been a LOT worse, I proceeded to calm the hell down.

And then came the hearts in my eyes (and ears)... some relief-granting news and sweet words from a friend served to sooth a healing salve into freshly-traumatized sprains and strains, and patch up the shock-induced mental anguish I'd just endured.

I further self-medicated by reconnecting to Jeff Buckley's Grace, immediately followed by feeling like a total fucking girl: my heart actually tingled and I allowed myself to disintegrate under his poetic words and melodic voice...

and love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
...

it's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
...

broken down and hungry for your love, with no way to feed it
...

too young to hold on, too old to break free and run

His lyrics and gorgeous tunes, mingled with the sweet smell of thawing pineapple taped to your neck, is enough to make a girl go 'uuhuuhhhhnnnnhnh...'

I wonder if there's a way to prove that angelic voices and unfathomably beautiful guitar riffs have healing powers, scientifically speaking.