His name was Bernard (named for Bernard in Lost) the Groundmunk (hybrid chipmunk/ground squirrel). He was a Toyota hybrid. He was our very first car.

We were driving home last night after seeing "Chess" with friends from the Full Cast Audio gang. I was driving (remember me? license in October), doing 30-35, which is the city limit. Because I'm a new driver, I keep to the limits. Don't want to get a ticket, doncha know. I had a green light and was going through the intersection.

I saw her a nanosecond before she went right in front of me. She was speeding through her red light. I hit her, was trying to steer away, she hit us again, spun us back the other way. She went up onto the grass.

Tim and I are okay--banged up and stiff, and I've got a nasty mark on my neck where the seat belt got me. We didn't go to the hospital, nor did the other driver. She was fairly okay; her front seat passenger was conscious at the hospital the last we heard, and just complaining of back pain. Her back seat passengers were fine. So we all got off lucky. Our air bags deployed. Hers didn't.

She went to jail. She was drunk.

And Bernard is dead. His whole front end was smashed off. We took out the Menchi stuffie and the Miss Piglet stuffie who rode on the front dashboard, Menchi since we first got Bernard. Bernard saved our lives, even after all our jokes about feeding him peanuts to keep him going.

My first accident as a driver--I never had one when I drove in my 20s.

So I know I have a lot of comments to answer today, and I'm sorry I haven't gotten to them. I've been kinda dazed--didn't get a lot of sleep, either, between shock, adrenaline, and our youngest cat, Squeaker, being in heat. I'll try to be more on my game tomorrow.

Why do people drink and drive? Maybe everyone should take driving lessons at 51 like I did, because they hammered it into us, about reaction times, penalties, perception, the whole megillah. Every night you see car pancakes and gurneys going into ambulances on the news; there's coverage of the night's messes in the paper. Tim has a fit when I joke about taking the wheel after a gin and tonic, even when it's been an hour (not that I would, but he's so cute when his eyes bug out).

I went to see how she was when she was talking to the paramedic. She turned to me and said, "Don't worry, it's my fault," and I got a faceful of liquor.

All the coverage, all the warnings, and people still drink and drive. If they want to kill themselves, fine, but this woman nearly racked up her three passengers, Tim, and me. And if anyone had died, I never would have forgiven myself, even knowing she drank, because I was the one who hit her as she raced in front of me.

Aw, hell. I'm babbling. I'm going to find some idiot TV to gawp at.