So, last night I made sure I got plenty of sleep. Woke up, grabbed all my food, cuz I had actually prepared everything the night before, and went to leave. I didnt make it to the end of my driveway. The first thing I did was bring the garage door down on top of my Pathfinder as I was backing out. That bent the garage door, and took it off it's tracks. I cleared the door, then went inside to tell Mike what had happened. He said not to worry, he and his work buddy would get it situated. Go on to work, no worries. Sure, ok, right. Then I preceded to back out a bit further from my driveway and turn (it's an L-shape), and then managed to hit my husband's new-to-him Sierra 1500 truck. Nothing major, I don't even think you can see anything on either car. There might be an additional scratch on the corner of my bumper but I doubt it. After I did this, I slammed on the brakes, ran inside crying like a very big ninny. Mike thought I had hit the lady with her baby in a stroller that he saw going by. So, he was much relieved when I told him I just hit his truck. He then instructed me to not even think about driving. I am a menace to society, no doubt. I wrote into work, told them what happened, then proceeded to pass out for 2 hours.
To say that I am a wreck, is an extreme understatement. I just hate feeling so uncontrollably weak like this. Intellectually I know I'm being a complete pyscho, but it doesn't change my emotional responses.
Oh, and today is the 1 year anniversary of my house fire. So, I should have known that it had to be an eventful day.