recovery is a bitch

Last week I was in a car accident. I was a passenger in my friend's car, we were stopped behind a truck when someone who wasn't paying attention rear-ended us. It was just starting to rain, too. Thankfully, no one was seriously hurt, but I was whiplashed. Later that night my friends took me to the emergency room where I was able to catch up on my sleep while waiting for a doctor to examine me.

I've had to curtail my normal activities because the muscle relaxants and painkillers that I'm taking tend to knock me out. I was in a drugged stupor for most of the weekend, and the difference between that and how I usually am is a fine line. In any case, I resumed normal activities this past Monday. I don't think anyone really noticed anything different. Should I be concerned about that?

I have had the weirdest dreams. Vivid and violent, actually. Last night I dreamed that I ran into my ex-insignificant other and pummeled him mercilessly in front of his friends and his current girlfriend. I woke up because I was thrashing around so violently that I hurt my neck. For the next two hours it hurt to lift my arms. I'm starting to accept my limitations. It will take time for me to recover physically, and as much as I am eager to put that relationship past me, I guess I still have a lot of anger about how it all went down. So I'll take that handful of pills as prescribed and maybe I'll work out my aggressions at the shooting range or somewhere else where no one (including me) will get hurt.