Wednesday, November 28, 2012

The oval mirror

* * * * Triggery for childhood sexual abuse, read with caution * * * *

The oval mirror

Once upon a time there was a beautiful oval mirror.

It hung in a little girls room, just upstairs and to the left.

The little girl loved to stare into it's flawless surface and see her reflection.

She would stick out her tounge and make funny faces and the mirror would laugh and make a face back.

They were very good friends. The mirror watching all that happened in the room.

One peaceful evening, as the mirror reflected moonlight onto her sleeping face,

there was a noise on the stairs.

An awful frightening noise.

It woke the girl.

"Mirror the monster with the flesh knife is coming!" she cried and hid under the blankets.

The mirror swung into action and began to sway to and fro.

As the monster got to the door and turned the knob, the mirror threw itself across the door.

There was a horrible sound as the monster swung open the door and knocked the mirror down.
The monster stepped in and with no regard for the mirror stepped right on its face and shattered it.

The girl felt her soul shatter as she faced the monster alone.

She was left to the dark as the mirror no longer reflected the moonlight.

The mirror layed for a very long time on the floor, years and years.

No one cleaned up the broken glass or even noticed it at all. No one.

That was until one summer day when the little girl, now older, ran into the room and fummed
around fighting anger and hate and feeling as if she was going to explode.

She threw herself to the floor and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

"TELL ME WHY!" She angerly demanded. "WHY??"

She focused on the mirror and noticed for the first time, it reflected many different images...
many different faces, some whole, some fragemented, some not there at all.

As her vision slid from face to face, she got cut on the sharp edges. The pain was comforting and calming.

"I see there are many of me now."

and she didn't look in the mirror again.

And the mirror once again laid for a very long time on the floor...years and years.
For the most part the mirror just closed its eyes and tuned out the world.

It was only vaguely aware of being slid into a box and transported to a new place and shoved under the bed down the hall to the right.
The girl, now grown, never looked at it.

until

The monster reappeared.

The child, now a woman, saw a blinking light on the message machine and touching it was
unsuspectingly ambushed by the monster.


The woman, now a child, was very afraid. Even the monsters disembodied voice was too powerful to fight.

She hurried down the hall to the right and yanked the box from under the box from under the bed.

She tore open the dusty box and spoke to the mirror for the first time in forever.

"How...how did you have the strength to try and stop him from coming in my door all those years ago?"

"I knew it would take all of me to block the door, not just the hook or the frame or my glass." sobbed the mirror.

"You did it as one" the woman said quietly. "How can I do that? I am many now.

But the monster speaks and I am five years old. One five year old is not able to face the monster."

"No, no five year old should be sent to face the monster. Why doesn't someone inside you that is older pick her up and put her on their shoulder? " said the mirror, "like this"

The mirror pulled a smaller sliver of itself closer to a bigger piece. "see, now the monster will see a bigger you."

The girl, suddenly taller, looked carefully at the mirror and saw she was indeed bigger.

"and say if we pull these two pieces here and here for support then we can build a human pyramid and hold her even higher."

"Oh yes and if they were flanked by this piece and that piece then the base is strong and wide and stable."

The girl drew up her shoulders as she felt her power flowing back into her. She kept carefully reassembling the mirror until it was whole again.

Though the image was not perfect and had many scars, it none the less reflected her image as one again.

She stared for a long time at this stranger she had not seen for so long.

"Hello you" she at last spoke to her reflection.

"hello you" the reflection answered.

They smiled a quiet smirky smile at each other. The woman felt the mirrors frame fuse to her, giving her a solid sturdy support structure.

The mirror spoke again. "Dont send a five year old to fight the monster alone."

"Who shall I send?" she asked.

"You send the army you see before you."

The woman stood up and came to attention. Presenting a brisk salute she pivoted and went to the phone.
With a single movement she hit DELETE.

The monsters voice was gone.

She picked up the phone and dialed no longer afraid, her army knew how to silence the monsters voice.
And they could choose to do so at anytime.

...and the oval mirror?

well it hangs in a beautiful womans room.

Where you can see it everyday.

thend.

(c) 6-3-2005 PR

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Stone Statues

"Your horse sign blog reminded me of the stone statues."

Doh! No wonder it was ya 'alls minds, LOL that was just so weird to suddenly have a 1/2 zillion request for it!

I realized late last night..errr early this morning on the commute that it is possible to do a re-write on it and remove the sensitive info. Which I will do and post it.

"Because P,  love your blog but know you are sharing only a part of what you are capable of writing.  Share with the world what all of you writes,  not just the nice polite part that wears underwear."

ROTFLMAO, damn the minions are on to me...

There you have it. so be it.

 * * * * warning: graffic self inflicted violence - trigger * * * *

Stone statues


I was raised void of religion. There was no super being who called the shots in my life. No set governing rules and regulations of any religious dogma to cloud my head. Even so I found a spiritual place within  myself. Like a cosmic joke between me and the universe. It was it and I was I. If the universe wanted me be, then I had to be.

So many time in my life I barked at the universe and demanded "signs".  I wanted, no needed, trail signs along my lives journey to know that there was purpose in my being.

Trail signs. I grew up learning them from Grandfather. How to track in the woods and read the trail signs. Grass tied in a knot and bent pointing to the left indicated the hunting party took a left turn here.  Three stones piled in a stack, much like a stone snowman, indicated danger ahead on the tail. etc etc etc...

I as a child looked for those sighs as I grew up. Found none and assumed the universe had abandoned me here alone.

When I was in therapy, suddenly the signs I had looked for started appearing.

I was very suicidal in my twenties. I had no fear of death, I had no need to come to terms with death, what I need to do at that time in my life was to come to grips with living.

There were many nights alone in my trailer I would call out to myself. "Game of solitaire for your life? winner takes all." All I had to do was win and I got to call the shots. Mercifully by the time the game was over I usually had come to my senses and had calmed.

That game escalated into, Radio Roulette. The rules were simple. Turn on the radio and if it was a song I didn't like and/or commercial I could kill myself or injure myself,  what ever the stakes were that night. If it was I song I liked then I had to go to bed unharmed.

EVERY time. EVERY TIME the stakes were fatal, (ie I had the means and motivation to do it) I hit that switch and was greeted with a Beatles song. It was as if the universe wanted to FIRMLY let me know: NO. It reached out for me with the only thing on the planet that I would listen to.

I didn't think the signs could get any clearer then that.

I was wrong.

I left hypnotherapy very pissed and angry and upset. I was not listening to them. They wanted me to be friends with my body and my mind. To stop warring with in and unite to face the common enemy of the pain in the past.

"Be united my ass, its me against this ugly body AND the universe, I will not befriend this waste of flesh that I reside in." I grumbled as I got in the car and slammed the door. I glared at myself in the rear view mirror. "FUCK YOU!!!" I screamed at me and revved the engine and set it in gear.

Froze. unable to remember how to drive.

Oh that ticked me off down to my socks.

I exploded in a rage. Punched my face. Not the pain/release I needed I scooted over ripping open the  glove box looking for something to injure myself with further.

The place in my head our session had tapped into was frightening and dangerously close to the core of why I was driven into therapy in the first place. All of me was rebelling and screaming and frightened.

Not finding to suitable tool, I screamed again biting my arm.

Not able to break the skin, my mind fumed and I tried to twist off chunks with my hands.

I needed blood.

I need the sweet, warm comforting redness of the blood.

I remember exiting the car to get the tire iron to crack open my head and then was no more.

I swam through the black haze of my mind to surface once again to discover my self entering the redwoods. Usually as the car enters the rich dark shadows I feel my whole being relax as I return to my own personal Eden  This time it felt tight and uncomfortable and not at all friendly.

I was driving at break neck speeds through the twisty turning road. I turned down Walker Road and disappeared into the redwoods. Walker Road isn't really a road, it more of an impression of a trail that might get you through the core of the redwoods belly. I know it well and know it dead ends at a huge beach of rocks, that hold the Smith River from getting to close to the Redwoods.




I drove my car into a sand bank and abandoned it. I  took flight and made a b-line across the stones to the waters edge. My ankles slid over the many rocks as I made the foot ball field length run. My anger and rage only barely tempered.

"WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? THROW YOURSELF IN?" I screamed to myself.

maybe, I fumed in my head. I stood on the banks and stared hard at the cold dark green water racing past at breakneck speeds. The Smith River is crystal clear. Cold, DEEP, fast and as inviting as a morgue.

I turned to the stone beach and began picking up rocks and heaving them into the water. One after another in a parade of deep cacophonous moist KER....plunks. These were no little skipping stones. There were two handed hernia inducing stones.

The combo of rock therapy shut down my head and the strenuous exercise combined with the safety of the redwoods and the voice of the rushing water eased the need to injure myself.

Until I realized, I could just not let go of the next rock. My death would be swift, silent and cold.

My muscles nearing exhaustion knocked me over and pressed me to the beach.

Spitting sand I came up swinging. "I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS! MY MIND A JUMBLED RUBICS CUBE OF HELL!! I WANT TO REMEMBER EVERYTHING THAT CAUSED THIS UNREST IN ME....I WANT TO HAVE ACCESS TO THOSE PLACES WHERE THE NIGHTMARES SPAWN"

WE CAN WORK TOGETHER, UNITED LIKE THE THERAPIST SAY WE MUST, HEALING IS POSSIBLE! bellowed my gut.

The obsertity of this thought knocked me off balance and made me snort a 1/2 laugh, my mind clawed at the safety words they had planted in my subconscious.

Healing hell...I can't even convince myself to stay alive. I stood up and shakily walked the shore line looking for the next rock. Carefully selecting it for its size and ability to pull me under.

It took a moment to get it loose and cradled in my arms. Taking a deep breath I yanked it up and stood up.

The air left me in a silent exhale.

The rook dropped from my hands and it clattered heavily as it nestled back in with its breathern at my feet.

The scene before seared me to the quick.

It was not unlike turning around and discovering a huge zombie army standing behind you.

There all up and down the rocky beach were stone statues. Piles of rocks stacked up into towers.  some as high as 6 stones.  The majority of them three stones high.  Trail signs....Three stones piled in a stack, much like a stone snowman, indicated danger ahead on the tail. 

Hundreds of them HUNDREDS of them all over the beach.

How I missed them on my flight to the waters edge is beyond me. I could not see a clear path back to my car.

All of a sudden, I felt very small. veeeeerry small. A nothingness adrift in a hostile cosmos.

I felt something in me give.

as I imploded.

each of the fragments of my shattered soul, frightened drew closer to the core of what makes me, me.

My eyes scanned the tree line looking for people, big foot, aliens, something...anything.

I was alone. naked. exposed.... vulnerable. The panic was rising within.

The air left me with a hiss. "holy shit."

I wrapped my arms around myself trying to summon up the courage to go through the rock army back to the car.

I dug my heels into the adrenaline horse and took flight through the rocks, I slammed into the side of my car and bounced off and gave the ominous beach another quick glance as I dove into the car and sped off in a dusty cloud.

I drove in silence to the ocean. My mind didn't thaw from the strange terror within until I got to the oceans edge and let it swallow my feet.

That was a sign, my gut whispered.

I took in a ragged nervous breath. "no that was not a sign. That was someone who had hours to kill and enjoyed the solitude of the rock beach to mediate and make prayer towers."

riiiiiiight, smerked my gut. What kind of sign do you need? One that says "HEY YOU, ITS ME THE UNIVERSE, GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER

I laughed in spite of myself. "yeah, in BIG letters."

The internal chatter fell silent as I walked the sandy beach looking for a stretch of pebbles to hunt for agates in.

Finding one I sprawled on my belly and began sweeping the tiny rocks. I peered in carefully looking for agates. A quarter sized piece of smooth frosted white beach glass poked up as I extracted a black agate. I picked it up and was about to flick it from my path when i caught sight of the words on it.




B UNITED




My gut said what I couldn't,  HOLY SHIT!!

my soul still churned up from the rock "sign" gave way like a dam breaking and I exploded into sobs.

The guardians or  who ever has always watched over me sure pulled out all the stops that day to reach for me.

I sat up a sobbing blubbery mess. "OK! now that's a SIGN!" I hollered to the sea. "THAT IS A HELL OF A SIGN!!!!!!!!!!"

I stood up and walked to the hard packed sand near the waters edge. There I kneeled in the damp sand and used the beach glass to draw a circle around me.

I stood back up and addressed the cosmos. "I am here. I are strong and I am gunna fight to stay alive. Who's with me?"

There for the first time in forever, I heard myself speak in one voice, one thought, one cry...

"ME!!!!!!!"

"WHO THE ENEMY?"

"NOT ME!"

not me

There, on the beach, that day the battle shifted. The war was now focused outward.


Thend

Friday, November 23, 2012

omg you guys...stop that! what the heck!

I am suddenly getting numerous request for the stone statues story. Yes, I know how powerful it is. (I lived it remember?)

Let me do some deep soul searching on this one. That is a part of me that I have kept off the blog on purpose. I am not sure I want to go there...here. (you do realize that most people do not know what that story reveals, don't you?)

Part of me wonders why this time of the year would prompt the need in you to revisit that particular post.

The other part wonders why you remember it? (and so many of you...did it touch that many people?)

I just re-read it several times trying to see what it would give you. I don't see it. I ALSO do not see how I can edit it to not be so revealing.

First though, you must tell me why receiving a copy of it via email isn't good enough. Why do you want to see  it here.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

You called?


Hmmm...sorry I am out of sync... it took me a bit to "hear you"

Why were you thinking about me the other day? to the point you asked for me here by name?

You wanted to engage me in a conversation  You wanted to hear my words. maybe you wanted me to play hard ball withya and give you a whack upside the head?

Want me to climb inside your head and decipher the whirling chaos? Write it down for you to read?

You needed to hear my two cents aye?

*feeling you jerk free of my lasso*

I mount up and give chase.

You a slim bay mare galloping hellbent in a random weaving path. Both running from and running too at the same time....going no where fast.

I gently pull my horse next to you and match your pace.

one

two

three

our combined hooves sync up and the rhythm is comforting. I can hear your labored breathing, you are drowning in all that surrounds you.

That woman is the mirror is getting to be a stranger isn't she? She is this label and that label but never just you. Life has such a strangled hold on you that with each breath you are drawing in water and you are fighting to keep from drowning.

You wanna jump but you are on the ground floor. You wanna climb out from where you are but you are on the top floor. You are backed into a corner with a bear trap clamped onto your leg. The choice is chew off your leg and scurry away and remain wounded forever or ask for help.

Ask for help? arrgh that necessitates communication and vulnerability. Its easier to lie, to self and others.

Oh the pain of traveling with someone who skips, while you must walk. One who carries a single pack, while you shoulder many. How the yoke presses down and leaves furrows in your shoulders.

Its easy for others to see that YOU are holding the yoke forcing into your shoulders.... carrying more than your share of the weight.

No one cares. You want, you need someone to appreciate yourself sacrifices  But even more than that...you want to look into the mirror and be honest with her. You want her appreciation  You want the dreams back. You want the future you dreamed about back. You don't want to be here drowning in THIS reality. You sacrificed bits of yourself along the way, stepping though hoop after hoop to please others. Till all that is left is this phony image of a woman who is not you. A lie in the mirror.

* I pour my canteen of water over your lathered hide to cool you*

And pull my horse up. I am here to listen to you. A hitching post to come back and rest at .

"Peace be the journey" I call out to your dust trail.

Monday, November 19, 2012

"Doritos for dinner sounds fine to me."

Buried some where in the voice mod's I did for my husbands game Baldur's Gate, I can be heard saying: "Doritos for dinner sounds fine to me."

That fact is as true today as it was in 1984 when it was uttered by a friend of mine.

My friend was struggling to survive and care for her three children on min wage, $4 and change an hour. A divorce had left them in a bad place. Things were bad.

Really bad.

They would buy feed sacks full of moldy bread at the bakery outlet store and eat what they could and feed their animals with the rest.

To go from living in comfort to living waaaaay below the poverty line was a long fall for the children.

As Thanksgiving approached they set out and rounded up all the old pop cans at the house they could find. Even the old dusty ones from the barn were collected.

Counting them they had $1.70.

The mother asked her children, "this is what we have, what would you like for Thanksgiving?"

Tears filled the eyes of the older ones, but the younger one thought for a second and then said "Doritos."

"Doritos for dinner sounds fine to me." My friend said.

For me thanksgiving isn't about stuffing my face and eating all day, it is about being with the wonderful souls that share this planet. Being thankful for what there is and not bitter for what is not.

I am thankful that I have a job.

I am thankful that my children have never had to know the hardships of hunger.

I am thankful that I have a loving, compassionate, gentle husband, who treats me like I deserve to be.

I am thankful that I have family who will help me if I need it.

I am thankful that I am not alone.

I am thankful that I have friends who share their precious time with me.

I am thankful that I have been in bad places, it encourages me to work hard and not return there.

I am thankful that in 1984, the large bag of Doritos cost $1.69.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

He leadeth me beside the still waters

When people would ask Grandma how I came to live on her farm she would chuckle and say, "P came to ride the horse and never left."

To which I would counter, "I'm only staying till the horse is dead."

I lived for ~16 years on the farm, and ironically...I did only stayed till the horse died.

Corey and I were still just friends. Meeting up every two weeks or so to play chess. Emailing and just talking about life, his faith, my lack of faith and all sorts of things. I had started attending church with him to gain an understanding of his love for Jesus. I liked this tall man and his gentleness. I admired the peace and calmness that surrounded him. I wished for that centered peace within my shifting chaotic-suicidal mind.


Nibbon was a 1/2 Arabian 1/2 quarter horse. Dapple grey and the perfect blend of the two breeds. He had a skin cancer that afflicts grey/white skinned horses. It was slow growing and the vet said "someday it will go internal and you will know its time to put him down."

The week before I had saddled him for the kids and they rode him in the front yard. Out of character for him, he would go a little bit out and then return to the front porch and put his head on my chest.

"what's wrong with him today?" the farm kids asked.

My stomach sank as I realized he didn't know where he was, but he knew who I was. I set my gut on ice and said, "he doesn't want to be ridden today." I unsaddle and brushed him and took him to the pasture.

A week or so later I went out to feed and only Tinkerbell the welsh pony was at the gate. I looked past her and saw Nibbon trying to get up to answer my morning bellows for breakfast.

He struggled unable to rise. I climbed the fence and went to him. He looked around confused. My face and stomach tightened into twin frowns. I left his flake of hay so he could eat there.

I seemed like and hour to walk back to the house and call Grandma.

She was in a meeting the switch board wanted to take a message.

"No, please page her this is a family emergency."

I waited dreading to be the one to tell her. This horse was special to so many people, he was a beloved member of the Farm clan.

"Hello?"

"It's P, Nibbon is unable to get up for breakfast. It's time."

We all knew it would come someday. We always hoped it would be some other day.

We lead him to the back pasture. The vet filled that 60 cc syringe and patted his neck and waited for us to say goodbye. Grandma nuzzled his face and gave the lead rope to me and backed off to deal with her own grief.

"Mitakuye Oyasin" (all are related) I whispered to him. Leaning down I blew into his nose and shared one last wuff of life with him. "I led you in this life, you lead me in the next."

The euthanasia medicine stops the heart quickly. His body fell over with a heavy thud. I held fast to the lead rope so his head didn't slam the earth. The tears came as I gently lowered his beautiful head and knelt to unbuckle his halter.

Good bye my friend. Thank you for taking me on all those wonderful rides in the trails. I bury a piece of my heart here with you today.

Grandma planted a packet of tiny flowers in the planter behind the rocking chair and next to the front door of the house that night. She told me she asked Nibbon to come with a message when the flowers bloomed.

That day came exactly 60 days later.

It was a Sunday and I was rushing out the door to head to the neighboring town to go to church with Corey.

I bolted out the door and then froze in my tracks. Turned around open the door and leaned in over the planter. Several tiny blue flowers peered back at me. I smiled at the memory of my four legged friend.

I headed off vaguely hearing Grandmas word in my ears. I asked Nibbon to come with a message when the flowers bloomed.

At church I sat down and awaited Pastor Tim to start the service. I was beginning to heal on the inside by coming to here and seeing what Christianity was all about. I also very much enjoyed the company of this man who was helping me dig my way out of the terrible rut my life had fallen into. It was so nice to have a friend who I enjoyed interacting with. Someone who didn't want anything from me but to play chess and talk with.

As we stood and sang the opening songs, I felt relaxed. I had issues in the past with abuse by "Christians" and it had taken a lot of Sunday field trips to Bethel to be able to put my guard down and not feel like someone was going to jump up and point me out and demand the heathen leave the church.

As Pastor Tim took the podium he motioned for us to be seated.

The gentleman in front of me removed his coat as he sat down.

He leadeth me beside the still waters

Every system in my body stopped functioning as I read that message on his shirt. Everything around me hushed in the distinctive dissociative heighten awareness aura.

Above the message on his shirt was a cowboy, kneeling next to a horse....a horse that looked exactly like Nibbon.

My life has been filled with many wondrous signs from the spiritual world.

But I have to say, this one tops the cake.

I tried to force myself to refocus and listen to the sermon. My mind and eyes kept returning to the man's shirt.

I led you in this life, you lead me in the next.




He leadeth me beside the still waters

My mind whirled.

Is this where I belong?

The man rose up to free his wife's sweater from underneath him and in doing so revealed the bottom on the image.

Psalm 23 it read.

I could feel my face freeze over as layer after layer of dissociation happened in quick succession. This was too much to comprehend at this moment. I turned and looked at Corey.

He glanced my way and smiled. Then for a second his eyes returned front then he looked back, this time with concern in them.

Normally if attending church spooked me he would quietly reassure me with a squeeze of my hand. Today he must have seen something deeper because he immediately scooted over and put his arm around me and held me firmly but gently.

I closed my eyes and took a big breath. Alright Nibbon, I hear you. You didn't need to punctuate your message with my favorite number, I got your message horse.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Not compatible with life

The door to my room slammed open and the nurse came running in "put that baby to breast! his blood sugars are not compatible with life!"

Even in my lack of sleep  and extreme levels of pain, I got it. My son was dying.

She helped me unwrap him and rouse his groggy little body awake enough to latch on my breast.

"So you know what is happening, we have a call in to the doctor, once we get orders he will be heading to the NICU, they will just come in and take him, be prepared."

Prepared? Woman I have spent my life believing a lie told to me as a child that I would never have children. To have this neon blond baby even the 12 hours I have is more then ever dreamed possible. I haven't slept in two days because I keep waiting for him to die or just to awaken and find this all a cruel dream.

"Keep him awake" she said flicking his feet.

As I switched him to the other breast, my tired mind paused to burp him. Forgetting the life/death struggle going on.

She came back in "PUT HIM BACK TO BREAST!" She roughly rubbed him sternum to rouse him. "Their on their way. Say goodbye now."

Say goodbye? I haven't even said hello to him yet.

...and he was gone from my arms. Passed with great swiftness from nurse to nurse to incubater and so many hands reaching for him his little body disappeared from site.

The whirling hive of nurses left and the door quietly clicked shut.

I stared at it while that evil voice echoed in my head. "YOU WILL NEVER HAVE CHILDREN."

I got up, grabbed my cane  and forced my nonresponsive pelvis and back to come with me to the sink. I brushed my hair and stared at the beyond exhausted woman in the mirror. We should pack and go home. my heart said.

Corey came and stood behind me, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. Our son is dying and I can't comfort him. There is thick layer of dissociation going on mixed in with the exhaustion/fatigue of giving birth. I just want to go home and hide under the covers. He turns me to face him and wraps his arms around me.

He always knows just what to say to me.

Nothing.

I had wanted to have JUR at home to prevent the hospital bill. We were still trying to pay off all the debt I brought into our marriage. I had worked right up until the day they induced me. And I was due back in a few days. The only reason I didn't try a home birth was the doctor was not convinced I could have him vaginally with my messed up pelvis. Plus they though he had a goiter from the anti thyroid medication I was on.

"He would have died if we had him at home" I heard myself say. "he would have died because of stupid money!"

He held me tighter and tighter till the tears came, and we waited for word that our son was alive.

I was planning his funeral, when the call came.

"Your son is hungry" said the voice on the line.

"He is alive then?" I asked.

"Oh honey! I apologies that no one has updated you sooner, yes he is alive and doing great, his blood sugar is up and he is a hungry little man."

I put on my robe and Corey and I made our way down slowly to the NICU. I hung my cane on the edge of the wash basin as I scrubbed. 

Once done a nurse came for us. She paused in the door way looking from my dark hair to Corey's dark hair. "You're the parents of that blondie?!" she asked. 

We nodded  and she opened the door to the NICU and my ears were met with the beautiful sound of JUR screaming for a boob.

Once he was in my arms and latched on, JUR grabbed my finger and held on tight as if to say, I'm coming home with you mama.



I am coming home with you and Dad.

Saturday, November 10, 2012

Shrapnel 2

Out side we found out packs and rifles neatly stacked and ready to go. Three sacks sat upon my pack.

Shaking my throbbing hand I glanced around the murky storage shed. No sign of Tiomo. What new game was this?

Naked's maniacal laughter returned my focus.

"He packed us lunch" He said shoving one of the sacks under my face to show me.

As my tired mind whirled at the sight of an apple, some jerky and a sandwich nestled in the sack, Moserat shouldered his pack and checked his rifle. "Lets go." He hissed.

"He packed us lunch?" I echoed. I felt father shift in my head, like he used to do before leaning across the table to cuff me.

I slowly raised up my eyes to meet Moserats. "How did you know the door was unlocked?"

In the sudden stillness Naked squirmed like a puppy about to piss on the floor. "Yeaaaaaah" he said to Moserat with all the confidence of a stalk of celery.

Moserat gave us both a cold look and backed up only a few steps before his glistening black skin dematerialized into the shadows.

Shrapnel

Naked's lips made a popping sound as he rolled the smoke in his mouth before exhaling.

Moserat again heaved his bulk up and paced restlessly around the room. His arm occasionally twitching in a strange spasm as he reached to stop his non existing rifle from sliding off his shoulder. He stopped over the dying ones body. Grumbled and paced on.

The silence was insidious. I found myself wanting to hear even Naked's ludicrous stories just to ease the uncomfortable pressure.

pace...

pop...

pace...

pop...

interrupted only by the dying ones agonal breathing.

Within my mind father kicked me.

"You going to take that shiiit or are you gunna grow sum balls boy!"

I glanced at Naked and then Moserat. Why the fuck am I always the one who gets elected to play the psychotic over the edge misfit? My stomach burned as the rage ignited. "FINE!" I shout wrestling my legs to unfold and stand up.I stumble through the debris and park myself at the door. "ALRIGHT YOU PISS COMPLECTED SON OF BITCH!! YOU WIN! TIOMO!!!"

The lack of prompt response further fueled the burning in my stomach. "TIOMO!!!!"

I arched my arm back and punched the door, "YOU WIN! - YOU WIN! -YOU WIN!"

punch....

yell.....

punch ...

yell...

I stopped when there was blood running down the door. I rested my head right in the middle of it.

"Dying one has died" mumbled Moserat, removing his foot from the man's chest. "Its time to go" He grabbed Naked by the collar and hoisted him to his feet and then tossed him my direction.

I rolled my head to the right and looked at the two of them.

Moserat pushed me aside and slid opened the door.

It was unlocked this whole time? Oh Tiomo you evil piece of putrefied rectum.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Perspective

Now several of you have mentioned that I will get a cash settlement for my MVA injury, and I quote, "that will make things better."

This is not my first rodeo.

For that OJI I was given somewhere in the neighborhood of $3400.

That was 20 years ago.

Ignoring leap years that is 7300 days.

So basically right now its now stretched to roughly 0.47 cents per day.

Each year it gets smaller.

Each year the chronic pain worsens.

Some day I will be unable to walk...but that is okay I know that for my trouble I will have been paid  pennies a day for my pain and suffering.

So no, any settlement for pain and suffering will not make this loss of time better.

The MRI results came in yesterday and verified the original diagnosis. I was really REALLY hoping it would have shown something else. Something the doc's could just FIX and be done with. It made me very depressed and sad.

Today I am regrouping and reorganizing my life to batten down the hatches and move forward.

Can't remember if I told the blogisphere that I cut my hair so I can brush it with my left hand and no longer have to braid it, thus easing the strain on my right elbow. I now have something concrete I can look forward too.

When my hair is long again...my elbow should be healed.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

"Tennis Elbow"

That is what my car accident injured elbow is currently diagnosised with. Or the more formal  definition: Lateral epicondylitis or lateral epicondylalgia.

Truly I believe I would have less trouble being labeled with that if it didn't stir up images of floofy people court side, dabbing club soda on their linen napkins and dotting there foreheads with it.

"Run and fetch the doctor Miss Annie, the house mistress hath tennised her elbow."

Therefore the sake of the sanity of all us normal people I am going to give that type of injury a new nomenclature.

Hence forth it shall he called:

Remote Control Elbow  (for those couch dwellers)

Bastard Sword +3 Elbow       (For the gamers)

Squirmy toddler Elbow   (for the haggard parents)

Head Kickstand Elbow   (for the students)

Hadda-punch-im Elbow  (for those violent types)

Bat'leth Elbow  (for the Trekkies)

Texing Elbow  (for the youngins)

Fapping Elbow  (for....uh....for, you know who you are.)

and lastly for those people injured in car accidents through no fault of there own,

Dizizpissinmeoff Elbow

Also pronounced "&&^%$#$%^&*!!!!!!!!!!"


So Monday I had an MRI done on it. I have a copy of the disk and spent some time studying the 127 images on it. Playing Dr House is a fun sport in my life. I have been in the medical field 30 years, I am not there for the money....I LIKE IT.

I should apply to med school, that is how much I enjoy the medical field. Alas sadly my medical degree comes straight from GoogleU and years of self study. Oh and from watching MASH, ER, Chicago Hope, EMERGENCY, etc etc....(does General Hospital count?)

I however once read an ultrasound correctly, and the high risk neonatal doctor didn't. He stood there and told me my fetus at 8.5 months gestation had a goiter, and we would be watching it closely to see if a C-section would be needed, and at the very least he was going to recommend I be induced at least 3 weeks prior to due date.

I looked from him to the scan screen and back at him. I wanted to say: "It doesn't look like a goiter to me Doc, it looks like the cord is around his neck."

But I held my tongue...He after all was the expert in the field.

My son came squalling into this world with the cord wrapped around his goiter-less neck.

Great now I need to come up names for people like me who know just enough medical info to make them dangerous and smug all in the same diagnosis.