Yesterday I backed into a car while attempting to get into a parking space.
I got out of my car and we looked at the damage. I had dented and cracked his bike rack. No damage to mine. The man wasn’t very nice and actually said, “You’re not going to skip out on this are you?” He stated this in several different ways several times. The nerve!
Side Note: I did not have a terrible reaction the way I used to when I did something wrong. My eyes only filled with tears and lips quivered. Almost, but not quite, my face began to crumple into “oh god I’m going to cry” phase. Honestly I’m not ashamed of any of that. I think that would be a normal reaction to an unpleasant situation.
While standing there trying to keep my calm, I felt a hand on my shoulder and it was the director of the event I was working. He asked if I was alright. He had such a genuine look of concern, a few more tears leaked out. He asked if I needed to go home he would understand. I said I would be alright and he gave me a hug.
On my way into the event someone else approached me to ask how I was and she gave me a hug.
Half way through the event a volunteer checked in to see if I needed anything and I got another hug.
When the event was over the director came by again and I thanked him . I said I couldn’t believe how kind everyone was and how much it meant to me that I wasn’t standing there in the middle of the street alone.
This maybe a bit dramatic, but it was human nature, as it could be and was that in that moment.
This accident was no accident. The more I think about it, to experience kindness and worth as a human being, well, was worth the deductible.
Today, I began to read my blog posts from the beginning. I’ve been avoiding it because I’m not sure what I will find and how they will make me feel. Scrolling down (a long way down) I didn’t expect to arrive at 2012.
I feel I must read them because there is such a wide gap between when I stopped writing and now. It’s like I’m reading them for the first time (I have a terrible memory).
I started my blog to express myself after learning I had Bipolar 2. I stopped writing for a long time because of several reasons, mostly depression. All I could focus on was staying alive all while looking like nothing was wrong.
I’ve only read three or four early posts so far; they made me smile. The progression of my life from 2017 until now is sad and I’m not looking forward to reading those.
I still am not allowed to see my grandchildren and the four-year anniversary of when this nightmare began is this September 8th.
I realized recently that I didn’t even know the word ruminate existed until my daughter banished me from her life. It’s very hard for me to avoid ruminating, especially when I don’t understand, been given no information and I do not have any control. Sometimes it feels like a physical battle, and it has a mind of its own, a separate entity that keeps creeping in when I least expect it.
I am getting on my feet again though
My therapist says that while this has been and is still terrible and there is no explanation for the alienation of my grandchildren, being better with the ketamine helps me not fall off that cliff so regularly.
I was, and am, a good mother. I should ruminate on that.
I feel complaining about insignificant things and labeling them “FWP” exonerates me from being a whiny spoiled person living in the best place in the world. I’m also a jaded ex-catholic, so there is already a layer of guilt underneath everything I say and do.
I want to post this for another reason. With the hell I’ve been going through for the past year from medication side effects, divorce, being ostracized by my children and doing all of this in a delicate mental condition, I welcome superficial trivial problems.
Here is one now:
Well, so far this is a very good day! I colored my hair this week from an online hair color boasting it is just like the professional color. I don’t know why I bother. The brown of my hair turned out beautifully but the white came out a light brownish reddish. Anyway……I used the last of my root concealer two days ago (forgot all about covering my roots on Tuesday and was out doing errands for four hours). Luckily I wasn’t aware so had all of the confidence of a good looking person. Back to my roots (pardon the pun) I was even debating wearing one of Allison’s hats to hit the Walgreens early before too many people were there to get a new can of concealer. In the bathroom I took one more last ditch effort, fingers crossed, to look in the bathroom closet. There it was buried under cold medicine…..half a can!!! Halejuha!
Dear Life: please keep bringing on those kind of problems. I really need a break. xoxo
Recently, I was minding my own business driving to the library when something caught my eye. Two people were making unnatural movements on the sidewalk along the side of the library. It took a minute for my brain to translate what my eyes were seeing. First, two women fighting. Second, a lot of blood.
I don’t know what other people would’ve done, but after the last realization it all clicked and I stopped the car, almost pulling to the curb. As I got out, the other women ran and got into the passenger side of the truck in front of me and sped off (she must’ve heard of me and my bad ass reputation)!
I got to the bleeding woman and asked her what I could do, not realizing the severity of the situation. She sat down on the grass and said call 911. She didn’t even say it sarcastically or with a condensing tone with which I would have expected from such a stupid question.
I ran back to my car to get my phone and called 911. I ran to the hatchback and grabbed the wipes that had been left by Emily on her last visit.
I applied pressure to the deep gash above her eye. Blood was everywhere, it was pooling on her chest. The 911 dispatcher asked me a lot of questions and I relayed the information between the girl and her. That is how I found out the reason for all the violence. Amanda said the weapon was metal, like a pipe or a wrench. She had broken up with her boyfriend and the new girlfriend had accused her of stealing clothes. Sounds like a solid reason for attempted murder to me.
I continued try to comfort her, telling her the ambulance was on it’s way and then she would be okay. I said we should listen for the sirens (exactly what I was saying to Allison the night of the seizure). She seemed to be breathing strangely. I told her over and over to breath slower and deeper. Every baby wipe I applied to the wound filled right away.
10 minutes and 100 bloody wipes later, I finally heard the sirens.
Revealed, I left her to the EMTs. I picked up the blood soaked wipe and her purse and carried them to the ambulance. Then I had to run back because I realized I had put my phone in her purse.
I didn’t realize how shaken I was until I started to write a statement and my hand wouldn’t stop shaking. I was writing illegible nonsense. I told the police officer I wasn’t making any sense. He was really kind and asked if I just wanted to take it home and he would pick it up. The thought of the police coming to my house and having to prolong this nightmare propelled me into tough mode and I said I would start again, but first let me melt into a pile of tears. It took me a few minutes, I recovered, stopped shaking and wrote down what I had witnessed.
A little bit of reflection…no one stopped to help us in the ten minutes we waited for the ambulance! We couldn’t have been missed! Amanda with blood pouring down her face and me, propping her up with bloody tissues surrounding me on the grass. I really could have used the help.
I was back home telling the story to Allison when I realized something. What if when I jumped out of the car, the woman with the weapon came after me? What if the driver of the car jumped out with a gun and shot me? The list of bodily injuries that could have been delivered on me was massive! It was like the time recently when a woman and her dogs were being attacked by a pit bull in the street. I did the same thing! Stopped my car and jumped out to help. Just what the hell was my plan? Get ripped to shreds along with the dogs and their owner?
If a situation like this happens again, I am going to try to park, STAY IN CAR and dial 911! I may have gotten away with being a good Samaritan this time, but next time I might be a dead person. I hope it doesn’t take me being killed to realize this.
I was cleaning out the bathroom drawers. I have been accused in the past of throwing out things I shouldn’t have. I can usually counter that accusation by finding the item in question. I am the record holder of “Supreme Finder” title in our family. I can find things without even looking or getting up.
As I said, I was cleaning the drawers in the bathroom vanity. I pulled everything out first, cleaned the drawer and then put everything back in. Well, almost everything. There were the loose tooth floss toothpick things, hair ties, stray, Q –tips, old toothbrushes, etc. Those I threw away.
The real danger came when I approached John’s drawer. I pulled the drawer open and felt my blood run cool for just a moment. Okay, that may have been my imagination, but you get the gist of the apprehension I was feeling.
In his drawer were razors, empty toothpaste tubes, used stray toothpick floss things, an old handle for the blinds, combs and a few pens. Pretty straight forward I thought. A no-brainer. Ah, no. Nothing is ever simple with John. It is my fault. I should’ve realized it. I should have tried to get into his brain while I analyzed every piece of bathroom paraphernalia in his drawer. Hindsight is 20/20.
The next day John casually asked me if I had seen a white pole when I was cleaning out the drawers. I didn’t remember until a few minutes of thinking about it.
“Oh, yeah, I threw it away, ” I don’t know why I felt so confident in myself at that moment. It didn’t last long.
“I had made it into a handle for my razor so I could shave my back”, he said quite calmly.
“Oh no! I thought it was just an old pole!”, I cried (it was just an old pole).
He was very calm, unlike him calm and said, “It was the handle from a blind and the end was broken in just the right way so the razor handle fit.” I thought this was a little strange to invent something when he could have bought one.
My first response to a problem, especially when caused by me is to begin to solve it. I took a handle from the blinds in the bedroom, no dice. I took one from Allison’s room, no. My last one was from the kitchen and it didn’t work.
I felt terrible, probably worse than the situation warranted (as is also my way), but I kept trying to fix what I had caused. I think I was also trying to save face. I had always heralded the fact that whatever I was accused of throwing away I had always found it and felt quite smug about it too.
My first line of defense was Amazon. I looked for something to replace “the rod”. I found two things, so I screen shot them and sent them to John. He texted back saying “I will figure something else out”. Always the martyr.
I had an idea of going to ACE Hardware with the razor and getting a piece of pvc that it would fit into. I could also get some plastic tubing. I meant to go there twice, but I always ran out of time. Yesterday I went to the bank, the post office, grocery store, etc. and I thought I could fit it in. I was in the process of trying to convince myself to go when I had an epiphany.
I had found a replacement “razor pole” and he said thank you, but no. My part was done. I can move on with the other 15- 29 things on my to do list.
Who was I trying to kid? Of course, I didn’t move on! I went to ACE today and told the guy what I needed and what I needed it for. I asked for pvc pipe and plastic tubing. I got it home and after much filing, shoving and twisting etc., I got it to work!
Pheww, that was close! I almost wasn’t able to move on with my life.
I’ve included the blueprint to the “razor pole” below in case anyone is in need of such a high quality gadget.
Allison has been in kind of a funk lately. It’s her age, summer is too long, etc., etc. I have (as is my way) been trying to fix the situation. I get criticism from Allison that this is a “fault” of mine and sometimes she just wants to talk. Point taken and so I usually stay silent. Staying silent in the moment is one thing I can handle, but not trying to come up with a fix as soon as we stop having the conversation is another thing.
I have so many ideas and projects I want to do the list is ridiculously long. I would have to hire an assistant to complete all of the fun things I want to do. So in looking for something for Allison to pass the time, one thing I came upon was a great app called Stylebook. It’s where you take photos of all your clothes and make your outfits for a whole week! She was not interested. I showed her how she can change photographs to really anything with Photoshop. Not interested. I told her about a new Nintendo game app where you have to find the Pokeman in real time, kind of like a treasure hunt. Not interested.
Enter Tristan, my 20 year old son. I mentioned to him I had told Allison about the Nintendo app, but she was not interested. I said it must have been the way I had explained it. A few minutes later Tristan left and went into the living room where Allison was and this is what I heard:
It was meant to be a great week. John and I had not been on a vacation for 20 years! When we decided not to divorce one of the things I asked for was to go to the beach, something I had been promised year after year.
It was off to a great start! The resort was wonderful. We went to an all-inclusive for the usual reason of not wanting to do anything except eat, drink and sunbathe. We saw the dolphins and snorkeled. We ate a lot and drank a lot.
One night we went to a little market that the resort set up with locals to sell us tacky stuff. It was perfect for John. He got a Bronco tiki mask and a three legged stool with Harley Davidson stamped on the leather seat. Of course, that went downstairs with the Harley Davidson side table and the Jack Daniels wooden keg.
After we got home, I left the next day to fly out to visit Emily and the children. It took me a little while to settle in. I had “travelers’ diarrhea” so I wasn’t much fun or good to anyone for a couple of days. After that settled I started to itch. At first I thought it was mosquito bites, but more kept appearing and the itching was driving me crazy! So much so that I went to Urgent Care. Have you guess yet? Yes… I had scabies!!!
In case you don’t know what that is, here is the definition: “Known as the seven-year itch, is a contagious skin infestation by the mite Sarcoptes scabiei.” It is highly contagious. The treatment is EVERYONE that I had come in contact with had to put on a special prescription cream to kill the eggs. Ewww! It still makes my skin crawl (no pun intended) to describe it.
I know none of you know my daughter, Emily. Let’s just say she is a little bit of a germophobe and so is her husband. As you can imagine, being infested with a parasite didn’t go over too well. I not only felt like Typhoid Mary, I was treated a little bit like her. Everyone, including the baby, had to be treated with cream. We washed all of the sheets, rugs, everything that I may have touched. I couldn’t hold the baby or hug my granddaughter. I was pretty miserable.
I still don’t know where I picked it up. It could have been in Mexico or in the airport. I guess I’ll never know.
I’ve only told my family about the scabies. Even though it wasn’t my fault, I still feel a bit of shame. I believe it was caused by what my mother said when I contracted impetigo, “Oh, isn’t that a dirty disease?”
I have been underground again. I didn’t feel I had anything relevant to say for the last few months. I have a certain criteria* of the things I will post.
My post must be:
interesting.
have my unique point of view (I’ve finally put it to some good use).
have an “END” or a clever phrase to wrap it up (wink).
true.
Anonymous. It cannot contain any details that would lead someone to figure out my real self. Literally my name, etc. I know I am either extremely egotistical or completely paranoid that anyone really cares, but nevertheless it is an issue. I have remained incognito my entire life. I think it is one of my “things” that no one except my immediate family knows the real me. The crazy me. The unbalanced me. The totally fucking exhausted keeping up appearances me.
* There has been a flash flood of stories that meet my stringent criteria. Tune in.
anincidentallife.com 
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