I don’t want this blog turning into the health watch equivalent of the Weather Channel: “A storm front is moving into Beth’s heart and we are going to upgrade to condition Orange and warn our viewers of the chance of projectile vomiting....”
The problem is that I have been watching my vitals, sleeping or on oxygen since my last post so…what to talk about? I think right now my feeling is the one I had after I drove a four wheeler off a cliff road and into a tree when several hundred miles into the B.C. backwoods: ‘It doesn’t look like I’m going to die….but this is probably going to really hurt for while.’
So let me talk about what a chronic or autonomic failure is like for me. I would have thought that it would be intensely boring; I mean, I hardly move at all, I am not likely to in the near future. I don’t even have a view of trees or birds or anything. Boring right?
Well, I recommend you get one of those grey coffin-like metal roof rack holders for a bunch of snowboards, then take it in your car and go to your ski slope. Take the metal rack holder up on the ski lift, all the way up to the top where the black diamond ski slopes are. Now have a buddy lock you into the metal holder. You are just lying there, staring at the grey metal a few inches away from your nose; can’t see much, can’t move much. Now have your buddy shove you off the top. See, you still can’t do much, or see much, or really know what exactly is going on, but you aren’t bored anymore. No, those feelings you are getting in your body from the slope and the noises and the hints of what might be going on have your complete attention. That’s pretty much is happening to me, including when the rack holder slams into a tree and you feel like you might not breath again and you don’t know why you feel so crap but the metal case is already whizzing off another direction. You are inside and hearing and feeling more things so, in pain, but no, not bored, and still no exact idea of when or where this will end.
As for Fran, Linda got yelled at yesterday because now a stairwell is closed for construction and she used it. They only need to limit one more access and I can call the fire department. Just to let you know, you CAN hear a nail gun two floors down enough to wake you up. I am not sure when that information might come in handy, probably some future war when everyone has run out of bullets, but now you have it. As for those who like interpreting dreams, how about one where my mother is chasing me up the stairs, and she is buck naked while my father is standing at the bottom of the stairs saying, “Do we really have time for this now?” Needless to say, I interpreted this as a nightmare and woke up with a strong shudder. If I ever needed a proof I have lived a depraved life it is that my imagination can construct in explicit detail what my naked mother looks like (meaning, yeah, saw her vagina as she chased me up the stairs). Is there a name like those Eureka or Oedipal complexes where instead of wanting to kill your mother and have sex with your father, you have a dream where your mother and father are having sex and want to kill yourself?
All I can say is “Thank God” that the fashion of taking birth movies wasn’t in when I was born. It was for a period when I was in California. Because quite honestly, I can’t think of a more romantic way to introduce your significant other to the family than to get an extended film of your mother’s vagina with her screaming as you crown. Sounds like a blast! Sorry if some people have a misty moment about that but I’ve had dumps where I look down and go, “Geez, how did that get out!” So, no, not wanting a movie of it.
I have to admit to being handed a two week old baby and after all the admiration and the ‘yes aren’t the fingers so tiny’ I have carefully noted the size of the GIANT headed baby, kept a sort of two handed measurement. Then later, in the privacy of my own room, held that two handed diameter up to my vagina. Heck, I’ve even held up the measurement to Linda’s vagina once during sex (don’t tell her), and both times a little shudder and a idea of why your body releases all these material feelings cause……BIG HEAD! Don’t get me wrong, the miracle of birth, the miracle of growing inside and feeling it as it moves and kicks but……..BIG HEAD!
I guess I am on a biological kick today, sorry if you got the gags. I would like to take this time to mention that after years of disappointment, and while I am still losing weight, I think I gained a half breast size. And no, not down, like out – I am perky and proud. With my luck I should get a breast exam because it is probably a tumor but no, I’m enjoying the moments AND going out sometimes without any bra at all, cause I can now; nope, don’t need that push-up or padding. Okay, admittedly, usually no bra because I am wearing a corset but hey, actually almost proud I can call it “boobage” instead of, “a left over from the mumps.” Well, I actually used to lean over and call them “torpedo heads” since they had a strange triangular look. In a recent show on the art of Venice they talked about an artist of sculptures who made these “unearthly in perfection” statues (All nudes of course) and suddenly, there is a woman with my boobs, torpedo shape and all. “Look, look” I near shouted pointing to the screen, “I’m not ‘itty bitty’, I’m “unearthly perfection!” And now my “unearthly perfection” just got bigger.
Just in case you are wondering, yes I am on oxygen but no, not on pain pills, not doped up, just had enough moaning, screaming, drooling, turning funny colours that I guess I lost most of my inhibitions. Hmmm, is this a good time to mention that I am WAY too tired for most maintenance (besides brush teeth, hair, etc). This means I am looking for a tame foot fetishist out there who wants to paint my nails. I can’t really be bothered to dominate but I have some old shoes you can lick if you really want (I’m not using them).
Actually, now that I look over this blog, I am really wondering if I AM getting enough oxygen to my brain. Oh well, at least I am not worrying about my heart and the pain in my chest for now, I am more worried about certain relatives and perhaps future employers reading this. That would work great at the “Writer’s Grant” when I point out how respected my blog is and picked up by different agencies and they google it and turn back and say, “You imagine your mother’s vagina and you are willing to let people lick your old shoes?” Actually now that I think about it, here in BC, that would probably be a lock in actually GETTING a grant. They would probably want me to do a stage production too.
I’m going to stop now. Linda will thank me for that. Actually thinking about Linda and something she REALLY would kill me if I told, back when we first moved in together.....(Ow! Linda, it really hurts when you bend my fingers backwards like that!)
1 day ago