You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘Me’ category.
So, remember how I went to the Atomic Testing Museum a few months ago? Since then, I haven’t been able to get nuclear science out of my brain. I am absolutely fascinated by it.
At the Atomic Testing Museum I learned that there were atomic tests performed in places other than the Nevada Test Site; New Mexico, Alaska, Colorado, Mississippi. Wait, what? Mississippi? Turns out there were two atomic blasts, the Salmon and Sterling Blasts, part of Project Dribble, detonated at the Tatum Salt Dome in Baxterville, Lamar County, Mississippi in October 1964 and December 1966. That’s, like, super close to me.
Yesterday morning I went to the beach in Waveland. This happens to be my favorite beach in the neighborhood. See the pretty picture?
Here’s another one, with another fancy filter from Instagram.
Pretty, right? Good. Glad you think so, because that’s the last of the pictures I have for this post. More on that in a bit.
It was a gorgeous morning. Low 60s, sunny, breezy. I was wearing a sweatshirt and really, really enjoying finishing my book and just soaking up the loveliness. Then I decided, like any other single lady in her early thirties hanging out at the beach would, “Hey, why don’t I go and find the nuclear blast site that’s somewhat near here?”
Since I’m mildly obsessed with the topic, I knew that I was reasonably close (in the same state) as the blast site, and that it was somewhat north (because, well, south was the ocean) of my location. The blast site was near Hattiesburg according to information that I’d found earlier in my “research” (do I sound like a crazy person when I use that term? Break out the tinfoil hats then), between some towns called Purvis and Baxterville. I couldn’t remember this on the beach but did remember that the blasts took place in the Tatum Salt Dome. So, I typed Current Location to Tatum Salt Dome into Google Maps. Amazingly, a map appeared!
Alright, I lied; another picture. Kind of.
I put my beach chair back in the trunk and headed on my way. Basically I needed to get back to I59, head up to Lumberton and then make my way to Baxterville where I would find Tatum Salt Dome Road, where one would think, the Tatum Salt Dome would be easy to find. One would think.
First of all, I understand that Mississippi is Southern. And rural. And it was Sunday. But, I have never in my entire life seen so many pro-life and praying for [insert state] signs jammed into front yards. There were also many, many campaign signs (some for Billy Nungesser, who is running for office in Louisiana, which is different from Mississippi) of varying levels of creativity/effectiveness. From the exit on I59 to my destination and back, I puzzled over a sign that had the following text:
Help
BEN
WINston
Again
So, I wasn’t giving the sign all my brain power (other things were going on, horribly distracting pro-life signs, the possibility of men in white jeeps shooting me on sight), but it took me the entire drive to realize this sign was for a candidate named Ben Winston. They want him to WIN, in all caps. Clever. Clever, indeed.
Anyway, I drove through Lumberton, which has honestly seen better days, and carried on to Baxterville. Not knowing anything about this metropolis, I was watching my odometer closely so that I would be sure to see my turn at Tatum Salt Dome Road at 14.2 miles.
Baxterville had fared a bit worse than Lumberton, honestly. BUT, it did have great street names (which I wish I had taken pictures of) including Purvis to Baxterville Road and sought-after Tatum Salt Dome Road, which I almost drove by. Looking at this road’s intersection with the main road, one would never know it was the location of a historically significant site. Well, that’s not true. There are so many places lost to history, particularly in this part of the country.
Oh! I almost forgot. I drove through Kiln, Mississippi, which proclaimed itself as Brett Farve’s hometown. Since I’m such a giant football fan, I can’t believe I almost left out this tidbit.
Anyway, I turned down the road, it only continued in one direction, and passed a country church and several houses that looked exactly as I would think a house in rural Mississippi would look. Oak trees, farm equipment, all that and more. Then there was forest. On both sides of the road. And fences. And some metal signs that said POSTED in a large font and then in a smaller font, what I imagine said something along the lines of, “Men in white jeeps are watching you, just like they are at Area 51 in the movies, and they will shoot you at any time.” Or they were just normal No Trespassing signs, but I didn’t want to get close enough to test the waters.
Basically, I got frustrated, which led to my freaking myself out. I found a gated dirt road, surrounded by woods on both sides, that looked like the pictures on this site, but that’s it. This site has pictures that look like the general area where I was, but that’s about it. There wasn’t a sign, or a marker, or anything else. I swear my car (which is named, Nuke McPherson, by the way) was making an odd rattling (probably really wasn’t). The same maroon late 90s Honda civic had driven by me twice. My apologies to the fine people of Lamar County, but scenes from Deliverance and every horror movie I’ve ever seen were running through my mind. And bang, I’d freaked myself out enough that I didn’t want to go poking around.
Despite, my little freak-out, I’m still super interested in all of this. The site referred to in the previous paragraph refers to a “ground-zero headstone-like monument.” I wanna see it!! The page mentioned above also has a “please contact me” link that sadly is dead. I really, really want to go here and look at the marker. From what I’ve learned around the Internet, and as we know everything on the Internet is true, that’s about all that is left at the site, as the rest was shipped off to the Nevada Test Site because of radioactivity. It’s so insanely interesting to me that there were two nuclear tests performed here, and hardly anyone knows anything about it. I have scoured the interwebs and haven’t really found much information about the two blasts or the site itself.
However, the most helpful information I’ve found is at the Mississippi History Now website, on this page. The tests are detailed on this page, and there’s quite a bit of interesting information and some great pictures.
I know. Pretty unfruitful (barren?) nuclear tourism trip, but they can’t all be winners. Fear not. I will go back to the site again, hopefully with someone who knows what they’re looking for (and can get me on the other side of the gate without being shot, hint, hint), and more information in-hand.
Other Information I’ve gathered about the site, because I know you’re dying to know:
- Wikipedia actually has some good information about the Salmon Site. The article does a great job explaining the salt dome in which the tests were conducted, as well as the coordinates (which I couldn’t figure out how to make my iPhone use to give me directions).
- There are a lot of crazy people (of which, I am not one, despite my “research”, etc.) interested in atomic history. It’s sort of difficult to wade through the crazy to get to the actual information.
- Care for the site surface has apparently been returned to the State of Mississippi, as of 2010, so that the site can be managed as a wildlife refuge. The Department of Energy (DOE) still maintains subsurface control of the site and is responsible for waste, radioactivity, etc.
- Here’s a PDF about the Salmon Site I downloaded from the DOE.
Until next time, Happy Atom Smashing!
I’ve wanted to make an embroidered robot for awhile now. So, I drew one and transferred (which may be the biggest pain in the ass I’ve recently come across) it to some fabric and started stitching. Then, the robot took on a life of her own, as you can see from the original drawing and the (nearly) finished project.
Sketch
Embroidery
She’s become self-aware and has rollerskates!
A.I. is one of my favorite movies. There are so many haunting, beautiful, even creepy things in that movie that I simply cannot get out of my head. The scene at the bottom of the ocean where David stares longingly at the Blue Fairy. Google becoming our own Dr. Know. The Flesh Fair. The interaction between Gigolo Joe and the lonely woman (heartbreaking!). The tenderness between Teddy (Teddy’s in the Science Fiction Museum and Hall of Fame, by the way.) and David, even though they’re both Mechas. The Mecha’s ability to recreate one, happiest day for David. Kubrick’s vision and Spielberg’s touches of wonder (and the fact that the “sweetness” in the film was really Kubrick’s) make this one of my favorite films of all time. So much more to talk about, but it is all tangential to what I really want to write about.
Tonight I was thinking about David’s Happiest Day. (Short AI help here for those who haven’t seen/have forgotten. It is 2000 years later. All humans have died. The world is covered in ice. Aliens are excavating New York and find David and Teddy. They are able to understand humans better because David and Teddy have been so well preserved. The aliens scan Teddy’s and David’s memories and find that all David ever wanted was to be Monica’s son. Although they cannot make David a “real boy” they are able to use Monica’s hair [which Teddy has had safety pinned to himself for 2000 years (!)] to bring her back to life for one, perfect day. Out of gratitude, they thank David by granting his wish, if only for one day. Phew!)
What would my happiest day be like? It would be a Sunday. At my parents’ house. Susan and Jacob would be there. My dad would cook some monster piece of meat (Ribs probably. They’re my favorite and he always makes them for me when I’m home.) on the grill, and my mom would be busy canning something, or making some beautiful crafty thing. Susan would probably be busy listing books on EBay, with a Diet Coke not far away, and Jacob would be acting like an 8 year old boy. Sammy and Billy would be busy being dogs and all the assorted cats would be wandering in and out, sleeping, eating, bringing dead things to the back step because they were proud. Maybe Tom would sit on my lap for awhile.
It would be warm outside, and sunny. That beautiful, blinding Idaho sun that I’ve seen every July of my life. The garden would be just beyond manageable. Hops, tomatoes, grapes, squash, and who knows what else, would be threatening to take over the yard. I can hear Sammy opening the screen door with her giant lab/border collie paws.
Susan might make a cheesecake (she makes the best) and I’d make way too much of something; scalloped or mashed potatoes, cupcakes, stuffed jalapenos – it doesn’t really matter, I’d just make too much. My mom would make a salad, and we’d all dutifully eat it, not that we’re opposed to such a thing, but when ribs are involved, it can be a tough call. We would have that bread from the Basque bakery in Boise (I live in one of the best food cities in the world, yet cannot get over my missing Basque food).
I can hear the tv trays (we used to eat at the table every night, but not any more) opening, and can see everyone’s drinks ready for eating. And we’re talking. Loudly (we’re not a quiet group). Not about anything important, probably what is on tv. A normal, once-a-week Sunday at my parents’ house is my absolute favorite day.
So, that’s it. My perfect-happiest day. Family. Food. Farm. Idaho Sunshine. That’s all it takes.
If you could have one, happiest, perfect day, what would it be?
Makes my heart smile.
I know, I know; it’s not even Christmas yet, but here comes a post about 2011! Humor me.
So my plan for 2011 is to have some goals. (I don’t like that word, but you get the gist with it; I’m looking for a better word.) Not some grand, “I think I”ll build a school for every child in Africa by the time I’m 40,” type objectives, but some simple, attainable and important-to-me milestones. I know it’s still a few weeks out, and technically I give myself until January 26 of each year to start my new year (birthday), but this is my 32nd year, and I’d like it to be a little different. You see, up until this point in my life, I haven’t had any goals. Zero. Not a single one. Sound crazy? Well, it’s just been how I’ve operated until now.
Generally, I haven’t had a clue about what I want to do with myself. (Side note; I hate Times New Roman, and had to stop mid-thought to change my font-in the Word draft. TNR was killing my soul.) This is not a new thing. I couldn’t decide where to go to college. In college, I couldn’t decide what to major in. I couldn’t decide on a career (this is a HUGE issue for me, and I hope to figure out more about this in the coming year).
So yeah. Basically, aimlessness has been a pattern of mine for as long as I can remember. I haven’t ever really felt like I’ve fit-in. I am malleable to the point of losing myself. I tend to meld my personality into something different when I’m in a relationship. Recently, yes, it’s taken me a LONG time, I’ve realized that I’m a different person when I am in a relationship and stop doing the things that I love (or at least think I do) and am good at. Not that I am co-dependent on the boy; I’ve explored that, and just don’t think that is it. I had an ex-boyfriend tell me a few years ago that I am better outside of a relationship. I didn’t understand what he meant at the time and was sure it was something negative about me (great self-esteem there). But in hindsight, I realize that he is right and that I should have thanked him.
Instead of holding my own in a relationship (because that would require my actually knowing what I want) I tend to find someone and look to them for inspiration. You play rugby? Maybe I should play rugby or at least start following the All Blacks. English food? Ruby Murray? I’ve never thought of it before, but maybe it should be my favorite. Now exposure to different things through different people is not a bad thing at all. But for me, when I am in the confines of a relationship, I kind of stop exploring and finding things on my own. I look to my partner for all of this. This. Is. Not. Good. I don’t know where the hell I’m heading and think that maybe, possibly you just might have a clue. Or so I’ve reasoned it.
And get this; I have lived in my apartment for almost a year and still haven’t unpacked or settled-in yet. It was the same in the last THREE apartments before. I’ve been so hesitant to build a life, a home, on my own. I have never wanted to be that woman. I have always wanted to have the partner, the shared life. But maybe this isn’t the case? I don’t know. But, I do know I’m tired of living like a perpetual guest in my own home. So, a big part of 2011 will be spent nesting. Buying actual furniture. Finishing painting the rooms. Making it comfortable, for me. When I moved into this apartment, I started out with the same gusto. But then, I started dating British Boy and well, I was sidetracked. I dated him for too long, and let the rest of my life slip away. That was almost a year of my life, and what do I have to show? A mostly empty apartment and a year spent being very lonely even when in what I thought was a relationship. I am so, so transient. I don’t want to be that.
Anywho, as you can tell by now, I have a terrible time staying on the task at hand. Which leads me to goals. (Still don’t like it.) I want 2011 to be different. Don’t get me wrong, 2010 was a good year, but I don’t have it just right, or even close enough, just yet. I still dated the wrong guy for too long. Didn’t think before I acted. And so on, and so on.
The goals I will strive for in 2011 will include things like, trying a new recipe once a week (or cooking through some cookbook ala Julie and Julia, which I kind of hate to admit, but really, really love and find inspiring). And, that’s all I’ve got so far. I want things that are tangible, so I will need to keep track of them somehow. I think I need to start off small and see some accomplishments actually happen. I don’ t see this often. I am compiling a list of goals in my brain for now, and will eventually transfer them to this page. Be patient with me; I still have a few weeks. And, this is a horrible way to end this post.
It’s the day after my half-birthday. Yes, I’m 31 (and a half), and I still (did you ever?) mark my half birthday. Why you ask? For one, it is my grandmother’s birthday. My grandmother was, and still is a huge influence in my life. It is hard to believe that it has been almost five years since she died.
That being said, here’s one of the most tragic/romantic stories I’ve ever heard, and it happened to my own grandmother.
My grandma was born in 1920, so was a young woman when World War II began. She wanted to join the WAVES (truly inspiring/amazing organization for women in the 1940′s; look it up!), and help with the war effort, but her father insisted that she finish college first. So, she finished up at Missouri State Teachers College, with the intention of joining the WAVES once she was finished.
While she was attending college, she was pen pals with a high school classmate who was serving overseas (I don’t remember which branch, but think it was the Air Force). The connection between them deepened. Soon they were in love. My grandmother believed they would marry when he returned to the US.
Time went by and my grandmother’s sweetheart returned to their hometown. Only he didn’t propose to my grandmother, but got down on his knee for the girl next door instead. Really. Really, really. The entire time he had been writing to my grandmother, he had carried on a similar, and apparently more important, relationship with the girl living next door to my grandma. Now, I’m not sure how two girls, relatively close in age (I’m assuming, I really don’t know much about this woman), living next door to one another in rural Missouri did not realize they were writing to the same man (or maybe they did, but kept the depth of the relationship a secret? Or were in open competition? I don’t know, but like to think about it), but all signs point to this being the case.
So what did my grandma do? I am sure she was heartbroken (we’ll get to that part in a bit), but instead of crumbling she finished school, and moved to San Diego to do what she could for the war effort.
Although she had a teaching degree, my grandma didn’t have a certificate to teach in California. My grandma’s first job was working as a secretary at a furniture store in Escondido. Here, she made more money than she would have as a teacher. One day a man came in and began talking to my grandma. It turned out that he was the superintendent of the city’s school district, and urged my grandmother to start teaching under an emergency certificate. So she did.
Somewhere in the middle of all of this, my grandma met my grandfather. My grandfather was from Oklahoma, and was building airplanes for Hughes Aircraft, because he wasn’t accepted into the military (because of poor vision, or malaria, I don’t remember which. More about him in a later post). In addition to this work, my grandfather also took care of his brother who was a few years older, but needed constant care (I think he was suffering the effects of malaria).
My grandma was 25 or so by this time (which really, was straight-up spinsterhood back in the day) and wanted to get married. My grandfather did too, but had his brother to take care of. He did not want my grandmother to have to take care of him. So, he waited until his brother died. He then took him back to Oklahoma and closed that chapter of his life. Once this was done, he returned to California and proposed to my grandmother.
They lived a happy life. My grandfather owned a chicken ranch, and my grandmother taught school. They raised my dad. They were married for fifty some years (need to look that up) when my grandfather died. I always felt bad for my grandma when we were little, because my grandfather was sick for as long as I can remember. He had a stroke when I was really young, and died when I was 19. Most of this time, I can remember him barely able to walk without a walker, and speaking with a slur. They had retired and followed my dad and mom to Idaho to be around all of us, and almost as soon as they did this, he became sick.
So, years went by. One day, after my grandfather had died, my grandma told me this story. She also showed me a fairly recent picture of the man who had broken her heart. He had gone on to have a full life without my grandma, and she had done the same. However, they had been in touch for years (I’m not sure when they reconnected, but they certainly had). They still wrote letters to each other, though now they were of a much tamer nature, I am supposing. When my grandma died, we received flowers and a card from this man.
My grandma always made sure to tell me that she had had a good life. She was thankful for everything that she had. And she was right; she did have a good life. But, I always wonder if she had the love that she wanted. I know that she loved my grandfather, but I don’t know if it was the same as she had loved the other man. Of course it wasn’t the same, but was it more of what she was after? I don’t know.
I don’t know what this says about love. I think about it a lot. I try to apply the lessons to my own love life. Love is patient. Love does not always look like you expect it to, but if given a chance, it is constant, and lasting. Or, maybe this man humored my grandmother through her entire life without reciprocated feelings. Or, it was something in between. I will never know, but it is interesting to think about, and in a painful, nostalgic way, beautiful.
I’ve been thinking a lot about why people blog. And I think it boils down to this; people blog out of loneliness. People are lonely for various reasons and in various ways, and it isn’t always a bad thing. I know that I tend to wear my loneliness as a good thing. Maybe this means that I am more of a loner? I don’t know.
Relationship Reflection
Recently I’ve dated two people. And when it got right down to it, I realized that although I did enjoy the time I spent with these men, I was content, and even happy to spend time alone. So why is this?
Early in my dating life, I craved companionship nonstop. I lived and breathed the relationship, and in the process, I lost myself. All that mattered to me was the person I was in a relationship, making them happy, and making them not leave me. I did nothing alone, or just for me. I could feel myself slipping into this pattern in one of my recent, shorter relationships. Luckily, it ended before I got in to deep again.
An ex-boyfriend once told me that I was much better when I was single. I was more fun, more interesting, more me. He said that relationships weighed me down. We never talked about this when we were together, but I trust his perspective after the fact; he knew me single and as part of a couple.
It is interesting to me that I spend so much time in a relationship trying not to get the other half to leave. Why would they leave if it were right? And, why did it matter so much to me if they did? If they left, clearly, something wasn’t right.
Now, I’m noticing that I am reluctant to get into a relationship with anyone. Yes, there is a lot of baggage there, but part of it is my desire to remain autonomous. This desire is very strong within me right now.
In the past I spent so much time trying to be the person that my partner of the moment wanted me to be. I will not do this again. I want someone who loves me for being me. That is it. I don’t want, and will not, try to fit a mold that someone has constructed. I lose myself. It is exhausting.
And, yes, I am late in realizing this, but I would much prefer being happily alone than trying to be something I am not just so I can have a man.
Loner
So, what is it about being a loner that I find so appealing? I am still dissecting this, but am now realizing that it is an incredibly important part of my being. Some of my happiest, most fulfilling moments have been experienced alone. And although this is sad to me in the Romantic, no one to reflect on the past memories sort of way, I am still very thankful and love that I have experienced these things.
I particularly love traveling alone. I have driven across the country three times, alone. I have never been on a road trip of this length with anyone else. Not that I am against it; but it just hasn’t happened yet.
I love waking up with someone, with my legs tangled up in theirs, but honestly, I can do without it. My bed is comfy, and I enjoy company occasionally, but all in all, I am content.
I also wonder if geography is part of my issue. My closest relationships tend to be with those not in the same location. I talk constantly with my friends in other parts of the country. But, I don’t really spend a lot of time, outside of work, with people. Is this weird? Maybe. Is the distance a form of safety net (from what, I don’t know)?
I have built an incredible life for myself. I have experienced so many more things than most of the people I grew up with. I am so thankful for this. I did think I was “behind” or doing something wrong because I wasn’t married with 2.5 kids and a picket fence at this point in life, but the truth is? I would be bored to death with this life. Smothered. Suffocated. Those are the words I related to that life.
But then I wonder, is it just because I haven’t found the right person to share my life with that I feel this way? Is that it?
I don’t have any idea. All I can do is keep living my life, exactly as I want it. If someone comes along, wonderful. If not, I have an awesome life.
So, this first started because I was lazy. I’ve left my dryer open since Sunday last. (I know; I’ve neglected my house and myself, but that’s aside from the point.) Anyway, now it has turned into an experiment.
How long do you think the dryer light will stay on?
I was thinking earlier today that it has been a good four years since I have had a functional, loving relationship with someone. No, I was not single that entire time, and was stuck in an unhealthy relationship that did far more damage than good for the majority of it.
Because of this, or not, I really don’t know, I’ve lived a shelled-off, lonely life. Not to say that it hasn’t been great; but I still yearn for the connection, the partnership that I am lacking.
Recently, I was seeing someone. We were together for two months. I was falling in love with him. I told him so. Over the course of a couple days, work got horribly stressful for him. I received a couple of texts saying that there weren’t enough hours in the day, and then eventually, “There just aren’t enough hours in the day for work, a life and to date. You deserve better than this.” We went back and forth for a few minutes, with his emphasis being “You deserve more/better than what I can give right now.” He said that he felt empty and drained with nothing to give.
I wrote him an email trying to express that I was happy with our relationship. That I did not feel neglected, as I feared he thought. I also brought up the fact that it was still early on in our relationship and that time and distance were issues only because it was so early on. I told him that I thought he was placing something really good at risk because of stress at work. I am afraid that I came across too strongly. I worry that I sounded as if he mattered WAY too much to me. That by being caring, and trying to make him feel that everything would be okay, I squished something beautiful. I smothered it I fear, though I was trying my hardest to comfort us both, to support him when things were rough. In doing so, I may have done the opposite.
The next day, I called to say hi. I went straight to voicemail. I let a day pass and called again. And finally sent a text saying “Are you ever going to talk to me again?” No answer.
So, it’s been almost a week since I sent him the last text. What happened? He liked me so much; he told me as much and I could feel it. He was the first person I dated since the big one, and I was cautious, but trying to open myself up to him. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was falling in love with him. There was attraction, connection and it was great. What happened? Did I do something? Did he get scared? Did I scare him? What did I do wrong?
I am torturing myself with these questions. I am great with gray in any aspect of my world except relationships. I cannot deal with it well. Why couldn’t he just tell me that he didn’t want to see me any longer, if that was the case? Or, why not tell me that work was too much for him right now and he simply couldn’t focus on me as well? Did he say either of these things, and I just don’t see it?
I have an awesome life. I really do. I have had the opportunity to meet so many amazing people. To be a part of big, important things. To have freedom-real freedom, to do what I want, when I want, because I have the money, opportunities and education to do so. I am blessed in so many ways. Yet, I am alone. I am lonely. I want to share this all with someone. All of it. I want a partner.
The few stolen days of contentment in the last few weeks were wonderful. My heart was just beginning to open again. Sleeping tangled up with someone. Having someone genuinely interested and happy to be with me felt so good. Ridiculously good. And now it is gone in the blink of an eye. Why?
Is this the price I pay for having a good life? I wonder.
BUT, I acted honestly and with integrity. I did not hide my feelings from him, and even though I may have pushed him away in expressing my care for him, I did not do anything wrong. Even re-reading the email I sent him, I do not think I overreacted, but can see that it may be taken that way. I acted honestly and from my heart. He is free to react to my actions, as I am free to react to his. If he does not like or is unable to handle my response to this situation, then he is more than likely not the right person for me.
I dreamed I was in a park with you. A theme park of sorts. It was a huge, Disneyland meets New England, sort of park. It was the size of Boston. I lived in the park. You came to stay with me in the park. We shared a room (not having sex). We were getting to know each other again. Starting a new relationship. We met one afternoon in the park in the sunshine and talked. Loved each other. Had deep meaningful conversations with each other. Connected. Both of us were becoming fulfilled in this new relationship. The sun went down and we went to bed in our own beds, in the same room, not because we didn’t desire each other, but because we were waiting to grow into that.
Then over night, you involved her. I awoke and everything was different. You brought her into my room, in my park (since you didn’t live there, this is how I see it). You rented a double bed for the two of you in my room, and had the park staff deliver it. So when I awoke, there was my bed in the room, and the bed for the two of you. Now I felt invaded in my space.
I had to go to work. You were going to meet me in the sunshine once I was done and we could talk, love each other and continue to grow together. We were committed to this. We were looking forward to this. Excited about this. I tried to get there. Obstacle after obstacle got in my way. The trains weren’t going where I needed them to take me. I couldn’t walk fast enough because of my ankle. I kept getting lost. People told me the wrong way. Cabs took me to the wrong places. I couldn’t get through to you to ask you to wait. I could not get a message through to you. I couldn’t reach you. Finally, I received a message from you that was just one of those silly weatherman cartoon suns, but this one was angry, and fading.
Later, I looked at my phone and there was a message from you saying that you were not going to be able to make it. You told me that the sun was not going to be out. It had passed. You had waited as long as you could for me in the sunshine, but were now going to go and meet her at a bar. The sun had set. You had moved on. I was not welcome here. I had welcomed you into my room, my park, and then you brought her. Once you brought her, I was not even welcome in my own place.
I went back to my room, and the double bed that you had rented, and your bed that was originally there, were both gone. All that was in my room was my single bed, and darkness. The sun was gone. I was alone.
Then I woke up. The mind does interesting things with what is really going on.
Last Thursday at roller derby practice, we were doing this awesome drill where we skate in a chain, hands on the girl’s waist in front of you. The first flavor is girl in the front pulling the string of three girls behind her. The second flavor is girl in the back pushing the three in front. An awesome workout, and really pretty fun. But…
After I had done my pulling stint, and was one back from doing the pushing turn, the incident happened. We were going around one of the curves on the track, and my wheel caught, I heard a pop, immediately said, “My ankle’s broken,” and sat down really quickly. It didn’t so much hurt, as I knew. Katie, who was behind me, managed to somehow not collide with me, but ended up falling anyway. (She’s completely fine, don’t worry.)
So, I laid down on the track, my foot at the most precarious angle I have ever seen, and the calls to 911 began. Two of the skaters called, and what seemed like everyone else, held my leg and foot steady, put ice on my forehead and held my hands. Everyone was AMAZING. I had met some of these ladies that night, and they all acted as if I was their sister.
First the firemen arrived. They cut off my skate 
, laces, tights, and sock, and caused the WORST pain I have ever been in; they had to very, very slightly straighten my leg to get it out of my skate (even with the super scissors). It felt like fire for about two seconds. That’s the only time I cried out and that is a bit of an exaggeration; yelped is more like it.
They wrapped me up in a pillow, ice and tape and once the ambulance got there, loaded me into the bus. Side note: While the paramedics and firemen were coming in and out of the skating rink, Gil. T gave me a play by play on the hottness of each of the emergency workers. It made me smile, even in that state, and kept my mind off of my horribly disfigured ankle. Oh, I wouldn’t look at my ankle, and didn’t again until after x-rays.
Anyway, I was surely in shock because I didn’t have any drugs until well into my visit at the ER, and was still making jokes with all of the hospital staff, because that’s what I do. Everyone that came by had to tell me what a good job I’d done. The folks in the ER were amazing. We were waited on quickly, with humor and expertise. Best trip to the ER ever! I suppose it didn’t hurt that we had three sexy roller girls in our awesome outfits hanging out in the hospital. 
Shawna, one of the awesome nurses, made me laugh so much, and she was funny enough even to give me an allergy bracelet with “Cat” and a lovely picture of a kitty, even though that thing is reserved for drugs, generally. I would love for her to become one of my friends as she was just plain old kick-ass.
We got in trouble with the security guard for snapping pics, but how else were we going to share our outing with the world of Facebook? (Which, you should head over to, to see all of the pictures.)
More to follow…
