I've sent out another story. I hope and hope. I wait and wait.
I miss writing. I haven't been at the keyboard that often recently. Although I've an idea percolating....
On a completely unrelated subject: my right hand has been hurting a lot. I've been having trouble sleeping. It aches and aches and aches. I think I might resort to that primitive thing- the doctor. I believe in never going, it that gives some sort of idea. I believe that blood belongs inside of me, not in a vial. I hate hospitals. The phrase "ICU" gives me chills since the three days I spent watching my grandmother's still frame under the watchful eye of beeping electronics. She died after useless intervention and the prolonging of my families' pain and useless raising of hope. I am no longer trusting. I hate the smell of those places.
One of my friends is pregnant with her first child. Hospitals. They make me worried, those places. They are inherently frightening, full of chemicals and things I know nothing of.
The sight of blood, indeed the thought of blood, makes me lightheaded and prone to fainting. I worry about friends entering those halls.
I take Aleve every day, almost, to help with the pain in my hands, avoiding the doctors still. I hope that I will be able to avoid hospitals in my lifetime, whenever possible. The thought of the end of ones' life in a place like that... It doesn't bear thinking about, really.
I wonder, occasionally, how exactly I will die. I don't mean this to sound as if I am hastening the day, merely that I wonder how it will happen. Inevitably one turns to the seminal "Six Feet Under" series, with their haunting opening scenes and the macabre and hilarious deaths. Shall I be the one to trip and impale my head on a sharp metal object? The one who runs into traffic, mistaking lost blow-up dolls for angels? The one who dies by skillet to the head? So many possibilities... I hope I have a moment to savor the situation and understand what it happening. That's all I really want from death.
I am not quite sure how this post devolved as it has.
7 comments:
I just want the moment of knowing exactly how I am going to die- I don't like surprises all that much. It's worrying to think that you can simply be hit by a bus and be gone, that's all. With your drycleaning out still, will unwritten.... I don't like the idea of leaving things unfinished, I suppose...
I never thought I'd actually quote J.K. Rowling in public, but ah well, here it is:
"To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."
I am an atheist of course- perhaps this explains our differences in our perception of the event of death itself. I believe that when you die, that's it. You're dead- no eternal damnation or reward, just dead. I can't see the point in allowing myself to wallow in dread. My husband has a hard time understanding this as well, so don't worry. My own atheism notwithstanding, I think that if something actually did happen after one dies, it can only constitute an adventure. The unknown afterall, can be viewed as exciting, an adventure, or with dread- it's simply a matter of perception.
I haven't written a will, oddly, although I am known among my circle as the "type A" listmaker, planner extraordinaire... I've never had much to leave to anyone, I suppose. Except bills. (Speaking of which- can you believe the cheek of the California lottery? I didn't win the 98 million jackpot! Another serious miscarriage of justice that I shall endeavor to overcome).
ah, Rowling has read Barrie's Peter Pan who declares to captain Hook: "Death will be a great adventure!"
Hmmm.
more, much more, later - off to the salt mine known as IVC - miss you guys...
Jonathan, you are a man of generous spirit. Here's to luck.
Perhaps I will look into the Quicken thing, as well. After I finish my current projects: building a shelf for an extremely heavy air conditioner (anchored into the distressingly salt-corroded wood of the siding on the bungalow), and installing actual bars in my closet so that I can finally get rid of the swaying rolling rack that perpetually threatens to dump our clothing onto the floor. I've finished fixing the toilet, so I can at least mark that one off the list. Ah, honest sweat. And yet another trip to Lowe's, where I will be condescended to yet again. (I happen to be the hammer and nails type in our house, yet whenever I am accompanied by my husband to any store selling power tools I become mysteriously invisible while the clerk trys to engage my husband in conversation. My lovely husband who would generally prefer to be listening to classical music at home rather than trailing me through the table saws. Well, as Lisa said, back to the salt mines for me.
Don't let the newly denuded campus get you down, Lisa. I can't say that the dirt patches where the decrepit trailers stood does much for the campus. Or the sawing down of trees, for that matter. Just after they took the chain saws to the trees, I saw the most depressing thing- the freshly cut stump of the tree with an abandoned bird's nest lying next to it. By the way, why on earth didn't they remove the stumps? For people who are looking at having to remove the wooden clock tower due to termites they seem remarkably ill informed about what exactly happens to wood left in the ground to rot.
The world is filled with nonsense, I think.
Oh, and Lisa, thank you for the Barrie quote, by the way. I knew that Rowling had reformed someone else's words, but I couldn't figure out who it was. That makes me feel better, to have that sense of irritation at the failure of my brain resolved.
yes, they have carted away the rotting temp classrooms and the bald patches of earth left are just beginning to show signs of life - life, no doubt about to be erradicated as they haul in new temp classrooms destined to be sued for ten years mroe than they should...and don't get me started on the tree stumps. geez.
death all around. me, I'd rather know - unlike my mil who seemed to have no idea what was happening to her and why (due to Alzheimer's and her own original disconnect from the horrors of the world - thanks to a childhood spent in Poland during WWII). It was hard to try and say goodbye or reach some kind of place with her in that state...and yet, maybe it was easier for HER, if not those who surrounded her, I don't know.
We drew up our will after we ahd our kid. Had to pick out folks he'd go to if we both died (my cousins who live on an organic farm up in No Cal) and who he'd go to if we died AND our cousins died (poisoned perhaps by some Alvarez family jello salad gone bad) - by friends Brett and Louis, no blood relation there, but good folks, our summer family, good politics, artists.
We did what we called our Terry Shaivo clause and made our good pal and lawyer the person who has to decide.
And then, one the days we signed the papers, afterwards went and got our teeth cleaned, feeling very mortal, very bony.
Glad you sent the story out - it's hard but good to do.
more later
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