Monday, August 27, 2012

Calm In the Storm

From time to time, I freak out.

No, really. All of you who know me in person can hardly believe it, right?

Stop laughing.
I can hear you from here.

Today was a day like any other. I woke up and then went blind.  Not blind blind, just kind of blind. It's happened a couple of times before and is usually followed by a killer migraine.

Before the pain in my head started, there was this 20 minute period where I was completely convinced that I had a tumor, a stroke, or retinal detachment--which, just for the record, I can barely type without having a panic attack, let alone actually experience--not that I have, but you get the idea.

Of course, I began to frantically text Mountain Man, because he's the one who pulls me back from the edge. If the plane goes down, or if the zombies attack or if Darth Vadar tries to use his evil mind tricks upon you, Mountain Man is the one you want with you.

Basically, Mountain Man is the calm in the storm.

Let me show it what I mean...
The texts read something like this:

Me: I'm freaking out. I can't see out of my right vision. Like spots. Is it a tumor? Am I going blind? Help me!

Mountain Man:  Migraine.

Me:  How can you be sure? It's on on the right side, and my head doesn't hurt. I think it may be a stroke.

(After 30 seconds with no response.)
Me:  I think it's a tumor.  What if I go permanently blind??

(Thirty more seconds with no response.)

Me:  I just googled my symptoms. Top picks from the Mayo Clinic are migraine, retinal detachment, ( I can't believe I wrote retinal, I think I'm going to puke.) Or stroke.  What do you think???  Where are you??? Why haven't you texted me back???  I may only be able to TALK to you from now on, not TEXT...I may be going blind and then I would never SEE you again and have to sculpt your face like that girl from that Lionel Richie "Hello?" music video.*  And I have a horrible memory.  By the time I feel your face to sculpt it, I will have probably forgotten what you look like and I will have inadvertently sculpted Sponge Bob instead. Because even I go blind, I will NEVER be able to forget what Sponge Bob looks like. Then EVERY TIME I feel that dumb sculpture, I will think that's what you actually look like, and you don't want your wife to think that you look like Sponge Bob, OR Lionel Richie...SO TEXT ME BACK!!!

Mountain Man:  Migraine. Not a stroke.

Me:  YOU don't know about retinal detachment!!! What if my EYE falls out?? I can't have my eye fall out right now, I have stuff to do!

Mountain Man:  Migraine.

Me:  Stop being bossy! Stop being a broken migraine record! This is serious!! I may not be able to move the left side of my body in a minute. Or, two words: RETINAL DETACHMENT. Did you hear me?  RETINAL, as in having to do with parts of the eye that if someone even talks about coming near, I pass out. Are you going to pick me up from the eye-doctor-man's floor when I pass out, huh??!!  Are you???!!

Mountain Man:  (No response.)

Mountain Man:  (Two minutes later.) It's not a tumor, retinal detachment, or a stroke. It's a migraine.  Go drink a Diet Coke and take some Exedrin.

(Twenty minutes later.)

Me:  I think it's a migraine. My head hurts.

Mountain Man:  See, it wasn't a tumor.

Me:  Shut up.  :)

Who is your "calm in the storm?"

*For your viewing pleasure...Hello? By Lionel Richie.  Disclaimer: Sponge Bob does not appear in this video.

P.S. Is anyone else bothered by the fact that Lionel Richie seems to be stalking the poor woman in this video, and isn't she the same woman from Michael Jackson's, Thriller??

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Bring a Shovel

My blogging buddy, Susanna, over at Behind My Eyes, wrote a lovely post about a friend whom she doesn't see often, but cherishes in her life and this got me thinking about my good friends.

The family I was born into kicks arse. What can I say? It's true. My parents are loving, kind, generous, funny and even a little wicked (in sense of humor at least.) But the one thing this arse-kicking family didn't give me was a sister, so, like all sister-less daughters, I went out into the wide world and found my own sisters--Which, if you ask me, is a far superior way of gaining a sister than being born into a family with one, because you can choose as many as you want, and they usually don't ask to borrow your clothes, unless of course, they do.

I have twelve sisters. None of them are related to me by birth or blood, but I know that if I called them in the dark of night and needed to dispose of a body, they would be there--and of course, I would drive through the dark of night to help them dig a grave too. (O.K., now this is just getting weird, but you know what I mean, right?)

Some of my sisters live right down the street. Some live far far away. Some I talk to everyday, some twice a week, or some even just once a year.  Time and distance don't define our love for one another. When we meet, it's like we never stopped talking. These sisters lift, support, encourage, and just love in perfect authenticity.

And I love them too--even when they ask me to bring a shovel.

Where have you found family?

Monday, August 6, 2012

Why Running Will Kill You, How the Ents Are Alive, Why It's Always Best to Stay Inside, or How I Didn't Die Today, Yet Again.

Running will kill you--of this I'm fairly certain.

As I write this, I'm still dripping with sweat and running high on adrenalin because the trees are out to get me.

While running this morning, I crossed the road at the same place I cross the road every day at about the same time.  Above me I heard a sound I've often wondered about ever since a childhood friend was caught underneath a falling tree while wearing his bike helmet.  I didn't even look up, I just ran, and I had no idea how far I needed to run to get out of the way as the hundred year old behemoth hit the ground.

My face is covered with tree dust and I'm all sweaty from running but more from almost getting hit by a tree.

When it finally hit the ground, I spun around to see the just how near a miss it was and I scratched myself on one of the thin, once high limbs.

A man living in the nearest house came out and said, "Are you o.k.?  I'm really really glad you weren't underneath that when it fell.  I saw you run."

About 12 feet from the ground, the major limbs came a tumblin' down...

Where I didn't die.

Another view and proof that the Ents are alive and may be out to get me, which would mean that I'm on Sauron's side and an enemy of those pesky Hobbits.   Which is really too bad, because I try to always be on the side of any issue where Vigo Mortenson/Aragorn resides--it's just common sense.  

When encountering a near death, or at least, possible broken back experience--not that this happens frequently, but often enough that I've always taken the time right after--to count some blessings, re-prioritize and stay inside for the rest of the day.

And that's exactly what I think I'll do.