I heart bonni.

I'm sitting at work with nothing to do, and so I am pretending not to be blogging by writing this out in an Outlook email. Heh. It's been a little bit ... foreboding-?- to think about writing about Bonni. The sad truth of the matter, if you haven't already heard from me, is that she was hit last week by a car while she was crossing the street, and now she's in the hospital in a full body brace. She's going to be okay; she broke lots of important bones, but somehow managed not to splatter her innards, which is good.

There was a cabbie who saw it happen, and chased the hit + run Cadillac through town, onto a highway, over a bridge at 85 mph, while radioing in to the cops, who caught the guy because of it. And it's pretty fabulous that the guy will go to jail for what he's done to one of the most amazing, talented, beautiful women in the world. But he's been arrested before for drug offenses, driving drunk, driving without a license... So there doesn't seem to be much chance that he will somehow have managed to get insurance that will help with Bonni's plight. And Bonni was a retail slave, so she certainly didn't have any insurance. The hospital is trying to help her, there have been talks of bands playing benefits for her, and there is an account that people can donate to. Please, please do!! You just go to Washington Mutual and ask for the account under her name, Bonni Suval.

But all of these things won't even begin to cover the frustration and anger she has at having her life fucked up. She was just starting to make things work for her in New York, she had come to Seattle to play a show with her band in honor of their CD being released, and things were finally going good for her. And she deserves things to go well for her. Her quota of shit for this lifetime had been filled years and years ago. So, she finishes her concert, and crosses the street just a few hours later to be smashed into with a "sickening thud," after which she flies through the air and lands on the sidewalk and refuses to wake up. Who would want to wake up after that? I'm sure parts of her wish that she were in a coma through this healing process she's embarking upon.
He broke her tailbone, her back, her femur, her arm, her scapula. He fractured her ribs and her skull. And now she has to be in the hospital for probably at least three months, where well-meaning nurses try to change her body-brace, not realizing that it's attached to her leg. Bonni is a hardcore motherfucker. When she is sick with pain, you know she's not talking about some measly triple-root-canal-/quintuplet-birthing sort of pain.

You sick, sick fucking world.

And here I am, lusty with my drive again. Last night was the first time in 8 months that I've smiled in the middle of painful dance class exercises. And it felt good. I thought about the results of my grad school applications, and realized that I will be okay no matter how they turn out. Because, if I don't get in, I'll just apply to another school, and another school. And maybe it will take me an extra year to actually get to grad school. But there just isn't any reason for that to freak me out. In a couple of weeks, I will be next to my broken bonni, and I get to tell her that her life is going to be okay again, and that she can pull it back together after being tied to a sterile rack for three months. And I better believe it. That is my job. I can handle a possible postponement of my schooling, even though I've spent the last eight months thinking that I would lose it if it doesn't work out the way I want it to. But that's just ridiculous, because it could've been me walking across the street and getting hit and run. At least I have insurance, and job security. And I can handle some changes of plans.

I think that being reminded of that is making me feel a whole lot better about life.