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I’m off to the beach, but…

The Golf Thing for the JDRF was extremely successful. They raised almost $95,000.00 in one night. I met a number of people whose driving force in their lives was to find a cure for diabetes in efforts to ease the pain of their diabetic child. I felt a little strange not working for someone else, but instead for Me. “Hi, yes, my name is Kerri. How old? Twenty-six. No, my child doesn’t have diabetes. I do.” But on the flip side, no one wants a cure for me more than my mom. I’d bet my life on it. Overall, it was an evening I would volunteer for again, without hesitation. Oooh, and the silent auction was rather chatty, so I didn’t receive any reprimand for not being able to keep my mouth shut.

On that note, September draws ever nearer and I have to get my act together for Team Six Until Me. As first-time Team Captain for this diabetes walk, I want to make an impression. I want to raise an obscene amount of money. I also may make t-shirts. Stay tuned for more updates on Team Six Until Me.

My office laid off eight people last week. And has let go of at least 15 employees since January. The writing on the wall, which used to be kind of blurry and in a tiny chicken scratch, has morphed into this huge, 72 point font, bold, “FIND A NEW JOB.” So I will. I am very nervous at the prospect of being laid off. Not because I like the job (because I actually think I might hate it), but the idea of no medical insurance makes my skin crawl. I start calculating how long I can last without ordering supplies. I never can count past three months. However, when I am let go, I won’t be surprised. Or personally offended. There hasn’t been any new business in months. So … I keep a bag with my bikini, a towel, and a book under my desk. In the event that they say, “Kerri, I’m sorry, but…” I will respond with, “Well, thanks. Now I don’t have to wait in aching anticipation anymore. I’m going to the beach.”

Does anyone have any information on outside insurance policies? If my office closes, I need to take on medical insurance immediately. Any suggestions or start points? I’m at a bit of a loss here and I want to be prepared.

Siah, leapt gracefully into the toilet last night. She was very surprised. And soggy. Were I able to catch my breath from laughing at her, I would have dried her off. Instead, she did that Wet Cat Waddle around the apartment, shaking alternating legs and emitting tiny kitten sneezes. Then she hung out in the garbage can.

Off to the beach.

Kerri the Auctioneer

On tap for tonight: I will be working at the 4th Annual JDRF-RI Golf Tournament, which raises money for diabetes research. My tasks tonight include, but are not limited to, working the Silent Auction.

Yes, you read correctly.

The Silent Auction.

I’m not sure if I can be quiet for that long. We’ll see. Either I’ll be able to control myself or I’ll end up buying thirty-three different items by accident. I should bring my checkbook, just in case.

This is the first diabetes event I’ve volunteered for, so I’m excited to get involved. It’s strange that I avoided anything related to diabetes when I was younger. Never volunteered, didn’t go to support groups, nothing. But now, as I mature (sort of), I gravitate towards anything even remotely resembling support. Does that indicate acceptance?

I’ll let you know how the event goes tonight.

Also, there is yet another diabetes blogger online. Her name is Rachel and her blog can be found Here. She’s brand new to blogging but a veteran diabetic. Check out the site. (Saloon doors swing shut.)

Lastly, Siah has taken to hanging out in the garbage cans. Can’t figure that one out. But the rustling of the plastic bags is a good hint as to where she is most of the time.


Back On the Road.

Quick post because I’m exhausted. But here’s the abridged version of the last week:

1996 Jetta:The Boy and I have just about recovered from last Thursday’s car accident fiasco. My ’96 Jetta was indeed deemed totaled. And yes, I sat in it one last time and cried a little bit. Because I am way too emotionally involved with inanimate objects.

2002 Jetta: So I bought my new car this morning. It’s lovely. A 2002 Jetta GLS in Dark Blue. Hot little car. I like it. If you look at the reflection in my car door, you can see my handsome boyfriend in some kind of weird ninja stance, taking the picture.

Thanks to my friends and family: I need to thank my Mom, my Dad, Grambo, The Boy and Batman for their help this week. Without them in my carless week, I would have had a nervous breakdown at the accident scene, I would have never made it to work, and I couldn’t have made the New Car purchase so quickly and painlessly. I mean, people were treking me all over the place. Without complaining. And without taking any money for gas from my grateful self. So THANK YOU to everyone for your help. I’d be fired from my job and possibly renting a Shriner car as a method of transportation.

I’m off to the beach tomorrow. In my new car.

Ah… sometimes it’s just so sweet.

Goodnight, Jetta.

The construction site worker. He held out the stop sign so abruptly that the driver of the BMW was forced to slam on his brakes. Two car lengths behind, I hit the brakes as fast as I could but I knew.

I couldn’t stop.

We saw it coming. “I can’t stop.” The sentence fell from my mouth and settled in my hands as I braced them against the steering wheel. “We’re going to hit him.” His arm grabbed me.

The combination of the cold summer rain and the layer of sand on the road from the construction site made a surface my wheels wouldn’t catch. The brakes locked up. The car slid towards the BMW for the longest five seconds I’ve ever known. My hands froze against the wheel and my 1996 Jetta, holding hostage myself and The Boy, smashed against the back of the BMW with a force I thought only existed in nightmares.

The noise was incredible. Thirty miles an hour never seems fast as the scenery flies by, but it is so very quick when everything else stands still. The airbags leapt out at us, tossing a combination of burning and chalk at our exposed arms and faces. I closed my eyes.

As soon as the Jetta stopped, I threw open the driver’s door and fell out onto the roadside. The car was filled with airbag dust, car pieces, and The Boy. Ice replaced my blood as I stared hysterically at him from the road. “Are you okay? Are you okay? Are you okay?”

Those three words were all I knew until he looked at me and said “Yes.”

What happened next was standard accident fare: The Boy and I stood beside my crippled car, waiting for the police to show up. I sat in the backseat of my car, whose front end was spilled across the street, dialing The List: Mom, Dad, Work. “It’s Kerri. I’m okay. [The Boy] is okay. I totaled my car.” My boss received the additional caveat – “And I’m not coming into work today.” The Boy was my hero. He talked to the other driver, the police officer, and held my face in his hands when I started to cry.

Fast forward – the other driver is okay. The Boy and I are okay, save for airbag burns, sore backs, and bruised arms from where we held each other at impact. Emergency room visits yield no broken bones. My car, the 1996 VW Jetta in that pretty lavender color, sits in what most would call the Repair Garage, but I know it’s the salvage yard. The Boy and I are fine, but the car is totaled.

I’ve had this car since high school. I had it when I graduated. I had it before I went to college. I had it before Mom and Dad divorced. I had it before any cotton wool spot. When my home was tossed into upheaval due to divorce and familial strife, I would sit in my car, turn up the radio, and go for a drive. That car made me feel safe. I owned it. I was very proud of it. It was mine. And it gave me a sense of security when life became a kaleidoscope of chaos.

So it hurts to let it go.

But it is just a car.

I’ll say, with certainty, that there is nothing more important than the fact that no one was hurt. We all walked away from an accident that could have hurt us very badly. Any lament for the lost VW pales in comparison to what could have happened. I realized in a split second how powerful a car can be. How fragile a life can be.

And how powerful a love for someone can become in that instant.


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