No, I'm not fled. Here's what's been up:

On May 28, 2004, I was in a bad car accident. My dear sweet Honda Del Sol was totalled. I was honking at the lady who hit me and my thumb got tangled in the steering wheel and was disclocated. I was hit from the drivers side, and though the air bags went off I didn't fly into them. I hit my head on the drivers side window frame then flew the other direction, knocking my glasses into the passenger footwell. When my head cleared a bit, I saw my arms were burned and my car was full of smoke, so I freaked out thinking it was on fire (but it was just airbag stuff). The door handle had broken, so I climbed out the window and straight into a puddle of automobile gut fluids. I then fell on my ass. All the blocked up traffic was actually honking at me to get out of the way -- I couldn't believe it -- so I stood up and flipped them all the bird, skating a bit in my oil-covered shoes. A lady who'd seen the accident came over and made me sit down until help came.

There's a short story whose title I can't recall, by Ray Bradbury I think, but the basic bent to is that there's always the same people at the scene of an accident and that they get there eerily fast. That's how it seemed, but not with people standing around looking at the accident -- the towtruck showed up first and out popped a team of (I SWEAR) Oompa Loompas who swept the bits of car out of the street and covered everything wet with kitty litter. They got there before the ambulance did and pulled away with my car before we left for the hospital.

But two and a half months in a cast and three months of physical therapy and I'm damn near as good as new. I had to take time off of my martial arts training, but I have now exceeded the level of training I was doing before the accident. I'm up to four arts, working out six days a week; arnis, kempo karate, Gracie Brazilian jiu jitsu, and muay thai.

As for my dear sweet Honda Del Sol, the best car I'd ever owned and wanted to own forever -- what did I replace it with? Obviously a two-seater, convertible, stick shift, in red. A 2004 Honda s2000. I miss the fuel economy of the del sol and the larger trunk, but the s2000 makes up for it in other ways. Vroom. Since the s2000 is anything but practical, Craig bought a truck so we have at least one vehicle which can carry stuff larger than a small handbag.

Craig and I aren't yet married, we haven't gotten around to it. At one point we'd set a date of this New Year's Eve, but we've done absolutely nothing to make any plans. It wouldn't take much, getting a marriage license is a cinch, and we do not want any traditional church ceremony or large reception.

My best friend has asked me to be her birthing coach, we're doing "hypnobirthing" classes in November. It is extremely amusing how careful people are in choosing their words when we tell them I am her coach; people seem to assume we're lesbians and go out of their way to cover the gay possibility without directly using gay words. We don't correct them, it's fun.

My sister is pregnant with number two. She's crazy. I predict a boy who will look just like their first born, but with darker hair. I had a dream about it.

How's this for funny: I have been unmedicated and seizure free for over two years now. Within the past couple of months, my dog started having seizures. Bwa ha ha. Fucking ha. The veterinarian says he should be medicated but it might make him gain weight and be more sedate. He's a 25lb dog who should weigh 40lbs, and is the most hyper stupid-poopid ever. Doesn't sound half bad. Except that I like him how he is, stupid-poopid boing-boing dog and all. His name is Cozmo, but we call him Moses, Mo-Mo, Costo, and all sorts of silly names. We've been calling him "Flower" lately, because a bearded collie named Flower is just funny. Of course that's what he'll be for Halloween, a bearded collie-flower... But there's gotta be a way to work in an epileptic joke somehow.

My father who has a long history of sexual harassment and such issues lost his job last month because of it. I don't know what to do about the situation, he is a creepy, sociopath, pervert and he's fucked up a lot of people. It'd been a long time since he'd done anything (I think), and I'd thought maybe we was finally just a harmless old man. If I didn't like my step-mother so much I like to think I wouldn't have a relationship with him at all -- but that's not true. I'd still wait for the day he'd turn into a normal, good, kind, dad. I hate him because I know that'll never happen, and I hate me because I can't give up that hope.

My mom has had skin cancer removed from her nose. The last time I saw her the scarring was still rather ugly, she had puffy yellow-black eyes and the stiches went from her forehead down around the tip of her nose. But all should be well once the stiches are out -- the doc said he was trying to make sure to get her nose back to normal.

In the broad sense, life is going great, I have a wonderful companion, financial stability, nice house and car, fun hobbies and plenty of recreational time. There's good and bad going on, just like everyone else. For some reason, though, I am tremendously depressed and have been for years, but lately to the point of injurious and suicidal thoughts. I'm doing mostly okay, I'm medicated. I've told Craig, just so that he knows, but we don't talk about it. It's best that way, what can be said?

So that's what's up, the things going on in my life. That's how I'm doing.