Dreaming Paris

Is it like this for everyone? It's not even as if I had it that bad. A cut on the head. A few staples. Some shaking up. It's not fun to lose the car, of course, but I've been in that place before, too.

Am I just getting too old for this kind of thing?

So today my son comes over so that I can take him to work and keep his car so that I can go and get the staples taken out. This is his car.

5 on the floor, no rearview mirror, no air conditioning, and the passenger side window won't go down. (Remember I live in Florida, and the weather's finally acting normal.) Oh, and the front windshield looks like it's going to fall in on you at any minute. This is what I'm expected to drive for the very first time of getting back into the driver's seat after the accident....to the doctor's office.

Now my husband would have been perfectly willing to do the driving had I asked because he's nice like that, but I figure I have to take care of myself, right? This is no big deal. It really isn't. So why does my mind make it seem like such a big deal? Why, when I get into the car, CAN'T I EVEN REMEMBER TO STEP ON THE CLUTCH TO GET IT INTO FIRST GEAR? Why do I have tears running down my face as I'm getting ready to pull out into traffic, my heart beating so hard it's like to push through my chest? Why does every little thing that I do seem so very, very hard?

I make it home, and now I'm dreading that I'm going to have to drive this thing to the doctor's, but I'm going to do it because that's what you do. You push through these things, and they're really nothing. Absolutely nothing.

It's what's in my head that makes my world what it is, though. So you know what we're doing, my daughter and I? We're going to turn this into a mother/daughter day. When else will we have a car with a chance to get away?

The title of my post is a book I just finished by Pema Chödrön. She's a Buddhist nun, and of course it's full of being nothing gives you everything kind of talk that has me being mindful of what I'm thinking from one moment to the next, though I have no idea what to do with any of it, not that it's even necessary to DO anything with it when you're a Buddhist, just be in the moment and observe what's true for you. Yeah.

Some of you know the bigger picture of what's going on with me, some of you only know the recent slice, but regardless, right here, right now, in this moment, my neck and head hurts and all I want to do is cry and nothing else matters but that I DON'T THINK AT ALL for just a little while. Because that's all I've been doing for weeks since before the crash, and ten times more so since. I'm living in some kind of slow-motion existential nightmare with cherry blossoms blooming all around me. Last night I lay in bed and thought loving thoughts toward my husband and the others in my life that I love, hoping that they may in some small way pave the road ahead of us with just a little less pain because no matter what happens, we're in for a bumpy trip. We're already on it, and just like my body is literally battered at the moment from the shaking I took and my neck is stiff and aching, so are our emotions.

My husband and I rode his motorcycle to the theater today. A matinee we decided to treat ourselves to. The theater is only a 3 minute drive down the road, but as I was on the motorcycle I was thinking what nuts we were to be riding such a deathtrap just for a bit of entertainment. We could go down in the blink of an eye, and be all battered and scraped and in pain, maybe die, and for what? And yet, I did it, and didn't care. Well, I cared enough to think about it. We watched How to Train Your Dragon. A lovely movie with the predictable youngster doesn't fit in but is vindicated and accepted kind of story, and yet it triggers all my thoughts of not feeling like I fit in, doing the unexpected, disappointing those I love, etc., etc. A silly kids movie and I'm personalizing every little moment of it, even the brushes with death because no matter how I try to accept and live with it, I could have died 6 days ago and I have to work through that in my head in whatever way works for me, sometimes by joking, sometimes by crying, sometimes just living the next moment, but it's always there now, and I have to settle what that means for me somehow.

When I came out of the movie I felt lightheaded again. Sensory overload, I think. When we got outside I asked my husband if we could sit down on one of the benches for a little bit. The sun felt nice and warm, but I was all shaky inside and didn't feel I could sit on the back of the motorcycle yet. And then I just started crying for no discernible reason. I couldn't stop it. I haven't really cried much since the accident happened. A couple of times because my daughter cried first, and a few momentary tears here and there, but I couldn't stop this. It didn't last long, but I still feel it almost 2 hours later.

My life is very strange right now. Very, very strange.

I got a letter stating the 3 workers in the ambulance who hit me were injured in some way and the city insurance is subrogating against my insurance. Okay. They told me at the time no one else was injured, but I imagine they got a bit of a shaking, too. A friend said the ambulance didn't look damaged, but the police report gives it about $4000 worth. Sigh. One wrong turn. One moment of missing the road signs. It's all so weird. I want to go out there and look at where it happened. I haven't been able to yet. I want to see where it says the road is one way. I want to know why I didn't notice it. Where was my head?

Caught up in my thoughts, as it is so often, probably. Oblivious to the world around me. I haven't been oblivious this week, though. Mindful. Slow-moving. Watching. Waiting.

No answers.

o' mice an 'men gang aft agley...

Life's been a bit rough lately, for a variety of reasons that I won't go into here, but I sure hope this latest development is the worst of a string of unfortunate events for a good while at least. Well, whatever, I just know that it has helped me to take a longer view of things and not be so freaked out about the every day because it just doesn't matter in the scheme of things. It's just small stuff, and you can be sure I'm not sweating small stuff right now. Or maybe that's just the painkillers talking. ;-)

Since I was going to be going to Seattle for the summer, I wanted to get with my friends before going, so I had worked it out to visit with a dear friend that I haven't seen in quite a while what with her job, my job, and just life in general. That was Sunday. At 1:55 I looked at my clock as I turned down Highland and I remember passing a house that kind of looked like the one I'd checked out on Google Maps (isn't that feature cool, to be able to see what a street looks like so you'll recognize things before you get there?), but it was the wrong street. So I go down a few streets more, and there is the cross street, and there is her house on the left corner ahead of me. "Yes, that's it," I tell myself as I begin to make a left turn.

The next thing I know I'm in a TV show or movie with the ceiling lights and people's faces hovering over me. Someone's asking me, do you know where you are? No. Do you know what year it is? 2010. Who is the President? Obama. I must have passed the last two questions because they tell me I'm in the ER. Do you remember what happened? No. I think they asked me my name and how old I was, but that could have been later when they were verifying info. I just remember bits and pieces. Like the cop telling me what happened, that it was my fault, and I've been given a citation for $151. Gee, thanks for telling me that now.

Yeah, so my first memory after seeing my friend's house is of me being lifted from the ambulance stretcher to the bed that wheeled me into the ER. I ask if my husband has been called at some point, and whether or not anyone else was hurt. No one else hurt, thank goodness, and apparently, other than damage to my head that I can feel on the left side, I'm okay, too. They've checked me over and had me move body parts, and I seem to be fine. My consciousness is returning stronger and stronger, though now I feel a little nauseous. I'm told a message was left with my husband. He wasn't having a good day when I'd left, so I'm wondering if he's even available to get a message, thinking he might be out riding his motorcycle and who knows when he'll get the message. But he arrived shortly after, scared out of his head because the message only told him to come to the hospital, but failed to tell him I'm alive.

Yeah, I'm alive, though after looking at this, you might wonder how, especially given the airbags didn't come open (though my dad says they're set to come open upon a crash of a certain velocity, so if I wasn't hit at that velocity, that's a good thing).

But of course I'm showing the worst pictures first. I was kept safe in here (yeah, that's my blood on the door. Not too bad for a head wound, eh? You should have seen my bed sheets later, and the water when I was finally able to wash it out of my hair.)

And here are the rest of the pics showing the damage, and the good side of the car that tells you what our car used to look like.

I will not gross you out with a picture of my stapled head. That would be a bit much, I think.  The gash is above my left ear by about 2 inches, pretty much straight up the side of my head, and is 8 cm long. I got 4 stitches inside and 9 staples to hold the skin together.  They said it was about as deep as you can go without hitting bone. The staples will come out in 10 days, and it doesn't hurt worse than a dull ache, though today I'm finally feeling battered along my left side, especially along the neck. I thought I only had a couple of bruises on the insides of my legs, but today I took a better look, and the outside of my left leg is full of bruises. I also have bruises and abrasions on the back of my left arm and my left shoulder.

So what happened!? you're asking. I didn't realize that the road I was traveling turned from a 2 way traffic street to a 1 way. I was going the right direction, but what I thought was the turn lane was actually the center lane, so I turned in front of the path of an ambulance going the same direction I was headed. I was pushed 208 ft. My friend's house was blocked for awhile with cop cars and wreckage, so she couldn't leave to go to the hospital, but when she did arrive, she couldn't see me anyway. She stayed with my daughter for quite a while in the ER waiting room. Thank you, so much, Debbie!!!

Get this. Eliska called me while I was in the ER...on my husband's cell phone...using our old house phone number. She was just calling to confirm our visit for the next day. Is that not BIZARRE?! Why would calling our old house phone put her through to my husband's cell phone, and what timing, nicht wahr?

Anyway, I'm okay. A friend of ours is letting us borrow his car to take care of my interview tomorrow (yeah, I have a job interview) and another important appointment on Thursday, so for all those wondering about that stuff, it's okay. And for the rest, one day at a time.

TO A MOUSE By Robert Burns [On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough, November, 1785]

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion, Has broken nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion, Which mak's thee startle At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen-icker in a thrave 's a sma' request: I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave And never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! It's silly wa's the win's are strewin'! An' naething, now, to big a new ane, O' foggage green! An' bleak December's winds ensuin', Baith snell and keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, An' weary winter comin fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, 'Till, crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, But house or hald, To thole the winter's sleety dribble, An' cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain; The best-laid schemes o' mice an 'men Gang aft a-gley, An' lea'e us nought but grief and pain, For promis'd joy.

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me! The present only toucheth thee: But, och! I backward cast my e'e, On prospects drear! An' forward, tho' I canna see, I guess an' fear.

Let me first say I'm not a morning person. This isn't to say that I don't love mornings. I do. I love the feel of them, and I especially love having the whole morning to get things done. I'm at my best then and accomplish many things around the house on the days when I'm not teaching. If I get up early. Which is rare. Because I'm not a morning person.

Somehow my biological time mechanism that humans are supposed to have, that one that, were we to not have clocks and the ability to go against nature with our artificial lights, kicks in and tells us, it's dark-go to sleep, it's light-wake up, has never worked properly. No matter how early I go to bed, my body's preferred wake up time is 10 or 11 am. In order for me to feel well, I must sleep at least 8 hours, preferably 9, but I'll sleep 12 or 13 if I don't use an alarm. I read in a few places that people who sleep as long as I like to sleep don't live as long, but I often wondered if it counts when you've lived a life that requires you only sleep 6-8 hours because you must get up for work. Is it what your body craves or what you actually make it do that determines these things, because if it's what I've made it do, I'm safe, I should live a good long life, at least based on my length of sleep because even though I'd love to sleep 12 to 13 hours every night, I actually don't. I like to sleep. But I don't like going to bed.

I will stay up well beyond time to go to sleep, even if I'm tired. I used to read late into the night, now I'm on the internet. Part of the reason for that is that at night it's usually quiet. It's the one time in my life where I can feel like I'm alone. I need that. Living with other people distresses me. I would be perfectly content living alone. When I say that to friends who are alone they tell me, no, you wouldn't. Be glad of what you have. Well, I am glad, but the fact remains that living with people distresses me. I KNOW that I would be perfectly content living by myself. Not as a hermit of course. I need people. But I need that alone time, too. And I can tell you that I know I'd like it because I've done it, and it was wonderful.

Well, as I said, I'm not a morning person, so waking up is never a good thing for me. I'm used to the icky feelings I have when I open my eyes and realize that I have to get up. But this morning was different. I could tell that my internal pharmacist had mixed my brain and body chemicals in the wrong proportions. This was not the normal ickies. This was my day of regret, the day when the consequences of my actions would come to roost.

Ever since I cut out sugar as much as possible from my diet I've had fewer days of depression. I've felt more myself. Adding whole grains, nuts, fruits and vegetables in greater quantities brings my mind to its usual upbeat, positive state. Adding exercise gives me an almost high. You'd think I'd make a habit, then, of all those things that I know will make me feel good, but I'm sorry, vegetables and exercise simply aren't as pleasurable as a slice of cheesecake with blackberry topping. IT JUST ISN'T! So sometimes I fall off the wagon. I crave the sugary goodness and just can't say no, even though I know I'll regret it. As I'm regretting it today.

Tears, anger, impatience, frustration, they have made their home in me today. Ugh.

Those who have been following my blogging history will recall the name from my title. I was born on a Tuesday, and according to the poem, "Tuesday's child is full of grace." I learned that poem when I was very young, and it was a source of amusement to me that I was never a very graceful person. I trip, I spill, I run into things. When I delved deeper into Christian things, I understood grace differently and that line became more meaningful to me. It's silly to allow things that have nothing to do with one at all to become part of one's framework for developing one's character but that's how it is with me. I held grace closely, it was mine, part of who I was because I identified with the Tuesday's child of the poem.

My name means a pledge, so loyalty, too, defined me. Whatever else I am, or am not, I remain loyal to the people I love. That's different in my way of thinking than being faithful. A faithful person is the kind who can maintain all the details and niceties of a relationship. They call you up, they remember your birthday, they develop the relationship, they're mindful of hurting your feelings. I'm afraid that I'm not that person. I can do those things, but they'll come out of the blue after a long time of nothing because I'll be thinking of you and want to do something nice because I DO love you. I'm not good at the faithfulness of relationships. But I am loyal in the sense that I will always love you. If you call on me, I'll be right there. If someone disses you, I'll defend you. If you get down on yourself I'll do what I can to lift you up. All because I discovered when I was young that my name means a pledge, so I feel that if I've given my friendship or my love, you should be able to count on that as you would someone's word of honor.

Silly, isn't it, these notions that we take into our heads? I know that I've let people down along the way, even the ones most dear to me. So maybe they don't see me as I see me. As I get older, though, I'm finding it (somewhat) easier to see myself as I really am, though I still want to hold on to those romantic notions of myself. And as I see myself as I really am, I'm learning to accept me as well, to live according to what I am, not as what I want to be. I don't always succeed. And sometimes I get confused. But I have to say that I like being in my 50s much better than I thought I would. I feel a freedom I didn't used to feel. The age isn't a problem to me. My body is, though.

When I was younger I had this notion that I would be someone who would grow old gracefully. I liked the idea of that. Ha! As I felt age overtaking me I started fighting it tooth and nail, but it can't be beat, only camouflaged somewhat with dyes and creams.

I got here too fast. And I barely get a chance to get used to one change before another takes place, and unlike in our teen years, these aren't pleasant changes at all. I still wish I could be someone who could age gracefully, with calm and wisdom, that I could move into this new phase of life with confidence and a chuckle at how seriously I took it all.

Even so, I like where I am. I may whine about the physical things taking place in my body, but this is a good time of my life, quite like no other. It has its ups and downs, its confusions and disappointments, but I'm living it like I've never lived before, more fully, more openly, more as myself rather than as someone I thought I was supposed to be. It would be nice, though, if I could have brought my 20 year old body with me to do the living in.

Note: This was originally started as a comment to a blog post by Father Luke, but as it got longer I decided to develop it further and turn it into a blog post of my own.