Cleaned out the car this morning. Kept apologizing to the car like it was pissed at me. What was left was mostly trash (I bagged up a lot of it but left it in the back seat) but a few things were worth keeping and I stuffed them into plastic bags and went on my melancholy way.
Sadly, the West Street Thugs tape that has been stuck in my tape player since, oh, 2004 did not make it out alive, er, at all.
Dad talked to the insurance adjustor and found out they're just moving the car to a more secure lot that doesn't charge for storage. (I am 26 and ashamed of my reliance on my parents for these seemingly simple tasks, but I know they just want to help and make sure I don't get screwed over. Still, I feel like a big baby letting my dad do all the heavy lifting during all this. Even though he's insisting to do it. I think it makes him feel good to help me out in such a big way since I'm usually so independent.) They've not yet made me an offer. I guess they're still waiting on the police report and the drunk bitch's insurance people to get their crap together.
I called to make an appointment with a doctor who comes highly recommended by two people I work with. I'm waiting on the call back from the lady who schedules appointments for people who've been in wrecks.
Instant mid-post update: The lady just called and said the doctor cannot accept new
Instant post-post update: Just made an appointment at Primary Care Specialists for tomorrow. I went there last year when I had a sinus infection. I just remember seeing a doctor for about three seconds, and I don't remember her name. But I don't freaking care who sees me or for how long. I just want to get this out of the way.