Sex, combine and broken sheet metal

No, this combination doesn’t turn me on. (Or I just have to try it out?) But the fact, that you totally crash the car, is usually linked to the total “crash” in your life too. Or even better – a general cleaning.

Like the state of our physical body, the state of our means of transport and electronic devices is always the reflection of our spirit or internal (in)balance. If you have a machine that often dies / gets lost / cracles / anyhow “misbehaves”… you are certainly in a similarly fucked up state as well.

In my life, I had two car crashes so far – I’ve told you about the most recent one in: https://slavetomyself.com/mladga-ragbijista-nikol-spustit-vase-al-pa-za-volan/, while the other one happened fifteen years ago, at the peak of my journalistic career.

I was a pervasive and rather bold journalist for Playboy, that was just then placed among the dormant slovenes as a magazine with good articles and erotic charge, and my mercilessly sharp pen (of course, coupled with a good measure of shameless sexuality!) catapulted me almost overnight between “Lady-Nova-Slovene news-wannabe-stars”. Totaaaaaaaaaaaaaal fake-bullshit, but fuck it, from a promotional point of view for the start of the career of a young, miffed girl, with (at the time) still a very “fame” hungry ego, I couldn’t have imagined nothing better!

Unfortunately, this media exposure of mine didn’t just impose (which is basically one such a new-age-shame pillar, or even better, a modern witch hunt!) – the presence in the Slovenian “public sandbox”, but as a twenty year old annoyed and confused me, even scared at moments!

When the first paparazzi-photos appeared for the first time in one of ours papers (and for this fucking yellow-press-photo-debut they had to choose me, of course, although I worked for that newspaper house at the time, which I still consider as an ultimate example of professional betrayal!) and my lover at the time, as well as a very exposed media businessman, I no longer felt safe. Fuck, I wasn’t even relaxed anymore going to the shop at the corner as a normal person! When the news began to appear, such as they “caught me” in a lingerie store (what the fuck?!?!), I began to get quite a bit paranoid. It seemed to me, that everyone was staring at me even at the fucking waiting room at the doctors or just crossing the street!! I even stopped swimming naked at sea – at that time, the semi-paparazzi pictures became terriibly hot & in… I didn’t find myself in this shallow, media madness… I made some strange, ambivalent position to my public exposure… like the wife of a violent alcoholic – some part of me wanted the headlights, it was somehow strange to me that, if I wasn’t in the news for four days, and at the same time  i was physically disgusted by it all!

But fuck it, what can you do… I tried to push it all up to the side of my subconscious flow as much as possible, so that there was still enough energy for work and creativeness. What I managed to do, because in the same year I progressed from the journalistic waters to politics. Well, a media massacre in journalism was a kindergarten compared to what followed in politics, but another time on it… well, or even not.

Anyway… you know what your Jill always says: there’s no fuck without creativity & business and there’s no creativity & business without a lot of fuck! And so they synchronized: the business-rompompom with the fuck-rompompom. Somehow, you have to discharge all these stresses, fuck it!

In those years the lovers passed each other on the hook of my apartment. I received weekly notes on the door of the apartment from my neighbours saying: “Do your intimate more quietly. Thank you. Your neighbor. “, my goldfish passed (I buried her with the highest state honors!), I had at least one tire on my car poked with a nail every week; I lost three wallets in the arch of four months with all the possible cards in them, I got visits at the door of wifes and girlfriends (with white foam on their mouths!) from my lovers who sacredly told me during our fucks that they “were either divorced or completely and agreeably separated” (screw you, you lying bastards!!!), despite the huge amount of work I didn’t miss a single party (and practically on every single one I danced so excitedly that I always returned home all sweaty, happy and drunk early in the morning), in that period I got (from the municipal security) from nine to sixteen tickets for improper parking, because I was leaving my lovers homes when the night (and thus free parking) had passed a long time ago, once I even forgot, when I went to the editorial office, the keys in my car’s door, and when I returned to the car at night – the car was gone!!! (a few hours later, the police found it parked nicely, with keys in it, only a few kilometers away), so I also filled the columns of black chronicles with bombastic titles in the style of “A scattered forgetful woman left the keys in the car doors” …. DaaaAaaAAaAamn ***! +! *! *! *! * ++++++ ********* …BLOW UP OF THE CENTURY!!!

 

Well, and in this delirium of business success, creativity, sport, wonderful excursions, crazy parties and heavenly fucks, when I had to try too, how it is, if – like in agriculture – you crash and you have in parallel three dudes at a time (of course, the didn’t know about each other, mamaraisednofool!), one Saturday morning I drove to Gorenjska, where I was meeting my handball player for lunch.

Exhausted, but reEEeeeEeeEEeEally happy because of all the successes, I – highly organized and gestapo disciplined – arranged all the usual weekend-logistics, requested by dating three men, and all the dynamics of my other personal and business life, sat in the car, turned up the music and all scattered went my way. When I got lost in my thoughts, about how would I possibly make it today with the lover no. 1 in Gorenjska, get by the morning to the lover no. 2, which was already waiting for me on the boat at the Marina Portorose, because we wanted to leave for two days of sailing, to then end up on Monday night in Trieste, in front of the fireplace and lover No. 3, in between pulling out of my purse my lipstick, changing the music, while eating a sandwich, and readjusting my hair, and wondered if it was ok to do all that I was doing… suddenly, in a split second, I lost control over the steering wheel… I only remember the fact that I was pulled to the edge of the road and then directly into a gigantic, red combine that stood in front of a large farm beside it.

Daaamn, how it clashed.

And then it bumped me from the harvester (which almost didn’t move at all, fucking fat bastard!) and swung around my axis.

The safety belt, which kept me from crashing forward into the windshield, cut me through the chest so it “bended” me over and I couldn’t breathe for a moment, and a part of the inwardly sinking dashboard literally cut into my lower leg. I still have an elliptical scar in the lower part of my right leg today from this ”sheet metal penetration”.

Fuck it, a combine is still a combine.

It was all smokey, in the air there was a smell of burnt rubber.

I remember my first feeling after the crash and when the car stopped moving around the road – I’m okay, I said, but something’s wrong on the back…

Instinctively, I quickly got out and got out of the car, on the edge of the road.

It was still pressing in my chest and back, I had a hard time breathing.

From the leg, where part of the dash was tilted, blood was running to my feet, through pink sandals with pearls and onwards, on the asphalt …

My lover (number 1), who followed me with the motorcycle, saw all of it, immediately called the police and the ambulances, came to me and ordered me to stay still until I know, if I really was all in one piece.

My mini-shell, my first car, didn’t survive this mess.

She was just loaded and taken to a car cemetery.

Bye-bye, went my car with the peluche hegdehog Harry and Donna the duck on the back seats!

I got taken to the emergency with the ambulance.

Damn.

Ultrasound of internal organs: Everything is ok, but you have gallstones, you know, miss?

Screw everything, this shit too, nooooow?!?! (Well, a few years later I afford a relievingly loooooooong and really nice sick leave, when I made them remove it.)

X-rays of the backbone: everything is ok, go home, but rest.

Fuck them sloppydoctorsofjesenice!!!

In the following month, during the regular inspection at the Clinical Center, it was found out that in Jesenice – beware! – they slapdashly checked and MISSED that I had – well, fortunately, a stable! – fracture of the twelfth vertebra, TH 12.

To lose it.

And I, before this check up in KC, with a broken vertebrate, rode on a bicycle every day to the editorial office for a month, with a huge backpack on me, because of course, I did not have a car anymore.

But luckily, it didn’t hurt my back.

In fact, it was more difficult to tolerate the frightened anger of a doctor (fuck it, again one of my ex-lovers!), Who – instead of his superficial colleagues from the Gorenjska region – exploded in rage on me(!!!), right there on the carriers in KC, how irresponsible I was. Of course he immediately immobilized me and gave me a potty under my ass.

What a degradation.

And what should I do now with this outdated fracture of the vertebra?!?!, I asked him and worked beside blink-blink with eyelashes, because – dick, I can’t get out of my chronic flirty skin …

Yeah, nothing, said my ex (ooooo, I would bang him again, that sexy he was in that white scrubs, motherfuckerrrrr !!! – I really have a weak spot for dudes in uniforms… !!) – a metal brace around my life, no bending , strict rest until we have completed all the checkups and we are not convinced that any nerve is hurt, and then after the protocol – regular therapy in the rehab center Soča in a few months when the real slow recovery begins.

Fuck.

I, however, with my lover number 2, to which I didn’t get to that Sunday, immediately after the accident (crazy, how it hit me, after the crash, the entire body hurt all night, like I got roughly fucked by some dude!), arranged that we were going to Berlin.

Yeah,  and if I decide something, I go through with it, even with a broken backbone – I immediately threw half of the clinic in the air, that all the inspections were done within two days, instead of a week, so that I could then go with this motherfucker to Berlin, and all the customs officers kept staring at me at the airport, because the metal strut was alarming all their detectors, as if I were smuggling seven machineguns under the fucking Agent Provocateur bra.

Fuck, how humiliating.

But I took it with some self-irony, and – I survived this too.

I was only fell apart when I went to bed in the hotel’s room in the evening.

Again, I carefully opened the steel armor and gently pulled it out of my body with a crafted gesture so that I did not bend the spine. Then I somehow put on a lace, gentle purple sleeping shirt with shoulders made out of a thousand small bows, and – cried.

And I couldn’t stop.

It poured right out of me.

Dazed collapses, the Soča, the Amazon, and the Yangcegyang were pouring out of my eyes (screw all the newly installed artificial eyelashes!!!), this emotional retarded human beside me, my lover n. 2, only managed to utter: “But really, all of it it’s not a big deal.”

Fuck you, idiot!!!

But a man feels and respects and loves you exactly as much as a woman does herself.

Če si sama do sebe emocionalno govedo, boš fasala identično emocionalno govedo nase.

If you are an emotionally bully to yourself, you will attract just the same emotional bully to yourself.

And in yourself.

And if you’ll value yourself as a princess on a bean grain, so will the dude.

(If he won’t, you will soon break up anyway, because if you are not on the same frequency, it is not compatible in its essence.)

That’s what I learnt in that fucked, luxurious bed.

Of course, I needed a couple more of subsequent, very rigid exams of the kind, until I learned and internalized the loveyourselffirst – female point of view (which actually “heals” a man too!), but that night in Berlin was groundbreaking.

Men broke my heart until I broke the spine.

And this is exact spot of the heart chakra, which is not a coincidence.

Dang, I had to crash into a harvester so that I finally left the crop rotation to the field of agriculture, and I ended up with it – at least between the sheets.

Because every lie, every tension, and every pain that you cause to another, is actually a knife in your own heart and a scam of yourself.

And that is why Jill has been happily married since then and enjoys a sincere marriage, without lies – with herself.

Thank you for the crash, because….is there AnanNyThIiIiiiiNg better than that?!?

 

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