Accidentally by my Side, Again

Lately, again, I've been feeling at odds with my past. I've been meeting a bunch of new people- at school and at the horse rescue and in our bowling league- and it's hard to answer simple questions, well, simply.

"The Onion" had a headline about college recently, something along the lines of "How much is too much complaining about how tired you are." This gets me a lot, because everyone's exhausted whether they're getting all their homework done around 2 am, or they're still drinking at 2 and failing most of their classes, or anywhere in between. In genetics recitation, everyone at my table is finishing a degree they started a while ago or getting a second bachelor's. Things like, "I barely got the homework submitted by 11 last night because my daughter's band concert went so long!" or "Work scheduled me during this lab, again." are common excuses. Which makes me wonder how the 19 year olds get away with turning in work late because "it was rush week and we were out celebrating with our sisters" but then again, that's where they are in their lives.

But for me, I'm exhausted because I only got 9 hours of sleep last night. I can't say that! With the bags under my eyes, I can't deny it, either! Ever since the head injury, sleep is the most important part of my life. Without sleep, I'm worthless.

As much as I hate to talk about it (in person- writing is cathartic), my medical history defines a lot of who I am.

This is the first page of the first manuscript I wrote at Naropa. It was a bitch to write. 50 pages?



I do not want to write this down...






Begin:

Broken ribs prevent pained kisses...

Hospital horrors
(the inherent beauty that is Death)
Tired, at night, in the ER
(blackened blood)- inside and out
Pulsating flesh and bone
(broken
ankle
femur
wrist)

Frantic hallway echoes
Nurses and Doctors bounding through blue curtains
Saving others.

Bumpy roads make it hard to poke
Took ten minutes in the ER anyways
Will take thirty minutes on the mountain, anyway.
(but we won’t know this about each other, not for many months)

Pancakes for “age; 17”

Menu for “age; 20”

Then the Beepings return
(frantic)
Blood pressure = Death
(too low)
Attached to me
(attached to him
but only when a new aid
takes his blood pressure and pulse
at the same time)


I am considering putting my name on an 'intent to adopt' list for a new horse at the rescue. I know this is a mistake, but I cannot get myself to fully accept it. We will have the money by the time he is up for adoption, but I can't ask Mike to do this. No one in my life wanted me back with horses again anyways. They do their best to support me, but I can see it in their eyes. Five years is a long time to not know who you are...

We're all still afraid of what could have happened.