I don’t know at one point my complaints spiral downward into mere bitching; I suspect this might be it. I was told by my doctor that I would hurt worse a few days after the accident. That’s turned out to be true. My jaw is all creaky. I guess it’s pretty badly misaligned (I’ve got TMJ as it is), because I’ve got an earache to go along with it. And I’ve got this backache that just won’t quit. All of this makes me flat-out cranky, though I try not to let it show. I’ve got to say, though, that on a scale of 1-10 (1 being a paper cut, 10 being childbirth), this couldn’t be more than a 2 or a 3. Still, the constant aches make it hard to work or even relax.
This orphenadrine does help. But it makes me dopey and a little swimmy, so I try not to take it when I might have to be useful in any capacity.
I’ve definitely descended into mere bitching.
So, Officer Hatter called me last night. He told me that they couldn’t get the warrant to arrest this drunk driver, because the magistrate said that there wasn’t enough evidence. (I would have thought the wrecked car, and the Jeep found a few blocks away with drunken occupants would have sufficed, but apparently not.) So Officer Hatter is going to try and get a photo of the suspect so that I can identify him in a photo line-up.
In the meantime, Amber has realized that she went to middle school with the owner of the car. I looked at his photo in her yearbook and realized that he’s probably the guy who was blubbering in the back of the wagon. I’d like to look at a high school yearbook photo to be sure, but I’m pretty sure that’s him. I don’t suppose knowing that really does anything for me, but it’s nice to have some sort of an idea what’s going on. I’ll head on down to the courthouse a little bit later and try and get this guy’s record.