This morning we did the accident reenactment. It was, in a word, morbid.

I cried straight for 30 minutes while screaming, convulsing, swallowing my own puke, being doused in sticky fake wounds, getting broken glass poured down my dress, and getting cut out of the roof of a car that looked all too much like mine.

At some points I wasn't even acting...it was truly terrifying.

They (well, falsely) arrested Brad right away, and wouldn't let Nick or me out of the car other than via strecher and neckbrace. So I didn't get to fight with Brad. I think it would've been better if I did. I'm pretty good at being hysterical.

On a totally unrelated note; Brad Rankin is hotter than magma.

(What is it with me and impossible Aries boys?)

It was so surreal to see all of those people strapping me down and lifting me out of the pseudo-wreck, and then staring at the ceiling of the ambulance because that was all I could look at (besides seeing Nick, a walking nightmare, being loaded in out of the corner of my eye).

Though it was kind of funny when the fireman was like,

"Who's the ding-a-ling who loaded the 7 foot guy in the ambulance??!"

"Ding-a-ling." Haven't heard that one in awhile.

But anyway.

It's definetly been a very bizarre day, and not in a good way. Everyone (and I do mean everyone on the planet...or else just in the burg) seems to be in a sort of lackadaisical state. Just blah. Something feels funny in my stomach. Hope it's not a baby.

I can safely say that even if the demonstration didn't hit home with any of the 500 or so kids watching, it certainly left an impact on me. I'm not sure if it's good or bad, but I'm definetly not doing anything crazy like that again.

Fake blood never felt so real.

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