I don’t know where this is coming from right now in terms of why I decided to write about it but… here it goes…
Death does not scare me. In fact, it kind of thrills me. Not in a morbid, suicidal, depressing, freaky kind of way but in like a… “I bet heaven is bad-A” kind of way.
I’ve been kind of interested in it all for as long as I can remember. When my great-grandfather passed away (I was 6), I was fascinated by the idea of him with the angels, or rather becoming an angel, which I’ve since learned isn’t really what happens but that’s okay because I’m sure it’s all still awesome – better even!
And for as long as I can remember, I’ve loved the story of Elijah. How cool would it be to be scooped up by a chariot of fire sent from heaven and to go up in what is repeatedly described as a “whirlwind”? …um, yes please! Even if I do have to go naked like Elijah. Sure, I have some insecurities, but if being naked is what it takes, I’ll strip down, jump on that fire-chariot and let it all hang out.
Haha, my slight obsession with all of this (obviously) freaks other people out. It’s become my replacement “well, that’s a bummer” response to say, “Gr. I can’t wait for my chariot” and my friends will all glare at me and say, “I swear, if you do not shut up about the chariot…” and if somehow the conversation comes up with strangers / acquaintances, they kind of look at me speechless like,
“Uhhh, is this chick serious?”
It all makes me laugh!
Anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say is that if anything were to ever happen to me… it’s okay. Don’t let anyone be sad. I’ll be so so SO pumped.
I’m also pretty pumped to be a drunk ol’ crazy granny with my girlfriends so… you know, there’s no reason to panic either. Haha…
Hello! It’s been a little while (again)! My bestie got married this past weekend; she was stunning, her groom was glowing, and everything went off without a hitch. It was by far one of my very favorite weekends. There was a lot going on leading up to it though, and now that it’s over, life slows back down for me… which I’ve needed.
Yesterday was my first day “back to normal” and I had daydreamed all day about taking the evening easy, making dinner for some friends, and relaxing. I even skipped the gym because I “deserved” a little rest night. I walked into my apartment, which I had cleaned up the night before, with a sigh of relief and headed straight for the shower to kick off the much-needed calm night in.
After showering, I threw back my shower curtain to realize that all of my towels were still in the dryer around the corner from my bedroom, so I tiptoed out of the bathroom and rounded the corner to come face to face with the building maintenance man, who had come to pick up the portable AC unit that had been in my hallway.
We both screamed bloody murder, I ran back to the shower, and I’m pretty sure I heard him fall over something before scrambling around and hollering at me that he was heading out.
Haha, not the calm-relaxing night I had had in mind.
But, needless to say, the next time I have a maintenance repair request, I expect it will get done PRONTO …I’ve paid my dues.
You know how when you go to the doctor for a “problem” visit, they don’t really ask you the details of your illness/injury/situation until you’re sitting on your little bench in a back room with a loud ticking clocking, swinging your feet laughing? …or maybe I’m the only one who (often) sits on that bench, swinging my feet laughing…
Doctors and I are buddies. We laugh together and we cry (as a result of laughing) together. I visit them often and as a result have (a) No fear and (b) No shame. I am not a sickling, I don’t have a family history of poor health, and I am not a hypochondriac.
Instead, I have the rare and beautiful ability to injury myself in any and all places and situations and in the presence of people who usually think it’s a lot less funny than I do… which makes it all the more funny to me. I do have a couple of friends and supportive family who understand me to the core and who, I’d say, have a sixth sense when it comes to my injury-adventures. But that’s for another story.
Another running theme here will have to be these self-inflicted injuries, accidents, falls, burns, and etc. because as many funny dating stories as I have, I could match them with an embarrassing scar or doctor’s visit story. The following one, in a way, mixes the one with the daydream of the other…
Recently I visited my PCP (for the 4th time this year). I made a 10am appointment at 8am on the same day. After checking in, where I told the receptionist that I was there as a result of a burn, a nice older lady called my name, measured my weight and height and sent me off to my little room where I sat, swinging my feet off the bench giggling to myself at the ridiculousness of my life and excited to see the dumbfounded look on her face when I told her my story.
Here’s the scoop. I just recently moved into my own teeny-tiny wonderful one-bedroom apartment. I love living alone and take advantage of all of it’s perks. Like, you know, nakedness. I’m an article reader and have read multiple seemingly valid articles about how it’s mentally and emotionally healthy to allow yourself to spend time in the nude (you know, like confidence and stuff)… and like I said, I LIVE ALONE, and I do what I want. Hmph.
One late Friday night after only a couple glasses of wine (yes, only a couple), I decided that I would roast all of my vegetables for the week and that I would do so in my home-alone-state-of-undress. Well, I live downtown, across the street from a motorcycle-owner, behind a bar, right off of a main street, and within earshot of the fire station on the hill. So, needless to say, when I was removing the baking sheet of veggies, in said home-alone-state-of-undress, one of these noises startled me and I stumbled backwards slamming the baking sheet into my body at which point the world went a little fuzzy and I sat on the kitchen floor trying not to pass out…
So… I’m sitting on my little bench in the doctors’ office, waiting for the sweet older lady to return for my burn story, literally laughing out loud, when the door opens and God sends a little “building character” wink as a green-eyed, olive-skinned, tall, dark, and handsome medical student enters.
“Good morning, I’m R and I’m shadowing Dr. A today. *firm handshake* So let me get the rundown before she comes in and we can get you in and out of here this morning.”
“Soooo, your records say you’re in for a burn this morning. *looking at all of my limbs confused* …What happened?”
And then I just… said it… “I burnt my boob.” ….silence…. “With a baking sheet.” …silence… “I was cooking.” ….silence…. “Alone, alone, alone, alone!!!”
Medical Student R was having a hard time responding to me and I knew he wanted to laugh. Charming and professional as he seemed to be, he looked like this before he swiveled his chair around and faced away from me…
Because I’m relatively immune to these situation (aside from the initial shock of him walking in), I died laughing and said, “It’s hilarious, I know. Please, you can laugh. Seriously. Laugh. This is the story of my life. I laugh. Really. Laugh” And so we did. We laughed and laughed…
…Then the doc came in, determined my burn to be pretty infected, prescribed me an antibiotic ointment and antibiotic pill, and had Medical Student R assist in properly bandaging my… injury. Because, of course.
We’re healing up just fine, since I’m sure you’re wondering…. Pride and all.