Down For The Count

Around half past midnight last night I had finished all of my business (see also: time wasting) on facebook and I was ready to go home.  At some point I ventured into my sister's room to say 'hello' to her and her boyfriend.  As I knelt and leaned over the edge of her bed my right thigh bashed into the sharp corner/edge of her bed.

Thinking back, I'm pretty sure I swore loudly right before hitting the floor.

I was certain my whole leg had been sliced open and that, well, this was it.  It was the end for me.  The curtain was closing as I lay bleeding to death beside her bed.

As children, and pretty much still as adults, my sister and I play this sick and semi-twisted game of injury.  And it's pretty much a given that you play by the rules, because...well, just because, "dems da rules".  For example, if I'm being particularly jerky, at any given moment my sister may take her hand and say "chopped" as she fashions her flattened hand in a cutting motion across my arm, or leg.  At that point, it's peace-out arm, or leg!  She either stiches it back on and fixes it, or I am forced to go without.  Unless of course I have the strength and ability to fix it on my own.

I was seriously down for the count last night.  I could feel the blood pooling around me.  My body went numb and I think I saw a light.  Granted, it was the light from the hallway, but still.

I needed staples.  I could feel it.  I knew it.  I felt so helpless.  No one came to my rescue.  I had to do this on my own.

I reached down, mustering up my last ounce of strength, and I stapled my leg back together.  I must admit, it was like taking power pills or something.  It healed over pretty fast, and the blood didn't even get on my jeans.  It must have evaporated really quickly, that's the only explanation I have.

Hmm, I bet that when I check it out later this evening, I'll have a pretty sweet scar - otherwise known as a big fat bruise! 

Awesome.

Don't worry guys.  I'll be okay.  I hope.

This is Why I'm Hot

Not sure what I can really say about this awesome picture of me, circa early 1980s, other than; clearly, I would do anything for a little attention.  Especially from Polar Bears at the Zoo.

To Write, Or Not To Write?

Why is there never 'time'? 

I was speaking with a friend of mine the other day about the notion of 'love'.  Hollywood has glamorized and romanticized 'love' to such an extent that it's just completely unrealistic.  It's unattainable in our human lives to live out the life of a Hollywood romantic comedy.  I'm not a cynic, just a realist.  Realistically, love takes work.  It can be fantastic, and wonderful, and even hearts and flowers and fluffy bunnies.  But, at some point, there will be fights, tears, overflowing toilets and dirty laundry! 

What about time, though?  Why does time seem to be this thing that is so highly romanticized in my brain, yet never used?  I have been legitimately pretty busy the past few months...but every day, in the far off recesses of my 40+ hour work week (with 2 jobs), a voice calls to me.  It's a voice from a big comfy, cushy, plush chair - I think it's a deep wine color, maybe mustard - in the middle of a wooded area.

I'm not talking deep woods here, people.  I'm talking dreamy, Savannah-type, woods.

Plop a big comfy chair in a patch of emerald green grass, covered with drops of morning dew.  Add in the glory, comfort, and beauty of the twisted branches and hanging canopy of these trees.  Cue the sun to stay frozen in the perfect spot, lighting the surroundings in an elegant glow of amber colors.  Offering the light of a breathtaking sunset that is struggling to cast it's rays through the trees....and that, my friends, is where I want to write.

Needless to say, I don't have any of that.  In the off chance that I have a chunk of time to spare these days, I'm absolutely worn out.  Sometimes I just feel so completely drained from my work day that it seems as if I have nothing to give.  Oh to have the life and the means to actually *do* what I'd enjoy doing - or dare I even say, LOVE doing?

Time sucks.  So does love? 

Maybe they're both overrated. 

My Mom's in the Trunk

A few weeks ago was my trek out to Yosemite, CA with my older sister.  We left on a Friday at 1am and 48 hours later we'd driven through 9 states and were somewhere in L.A.   Eventually I need to get my butt in gear and tell you the tales of a week long trip to scatter my Mother's ashes.  Definitely a trip of mixed emotions as the family "gathered" for one last time together.

Today I had to stop and laugh as I remembered Day#2...Utah.  Somewhere in or around the Moab desert we stopped for a stretch and to grab a map at the visitors center.  And can I just say that there are a lot of States in this Country that are total rubbish with the visitor center deal?  I mean, seriously, in Colorado you couldn't even get a free map until you were leaving the State!  That's helpful.  

Anyway, back to Utah.  Setting:  A beautiful Visitor's Center stocked with information and attended by two adorably cute old ladies, one of whom could barely speak English but she kept giving me free crap and jamming it into a tourist bag.  Whatever, it was free and she was sweet.  As we were heading out the main lady was in the middle of giving us what turned out to be VERY helpful tips - like; after such and such point there is no civilization or gas stations for over 40 miles, so fuel up.  Well, this woman (obviously quite concerned about Thelma and Louse out on their own) begins in with the Mom-type lectures about safety.  We took it graciously, as we would from our Grandmother...if we had any Grandmother's!  And as she lightly touched my arm she said, "I know you know all of this.  I'm sure your Mother gave you an earful before you left."

Me, realizing that my Mom is in a plastic box in the trunk and that maybe that would be TMI for this precious old woman, quickly decides it's best to play along. 

"Yeah."  I said as I waved goodbye.

After getting outside, my sister coyly says, "So, Mom gave you an earful, huh?"

"Well, it was either that or tell the lady that actually my Mom is in the trunk - want to meet her?"

♪♫♪  On the road again....