By Small and Small: Midnight to Four A.M.
For eleven years I have regretted it,
regretted that I did not do what
I wanted to do as I sat there those
four hours watching her die. I wanted
to crawl in among the machinery
and hold her in my arms, knowing
the elementary, leftover bit of her
mind would dimly recognize it was me
carrying her to where she was going.
-- Jack Gilbert
today, my stepfather would have been 45. though we have learned how to get on without him, we miss him in ways large or small every day, each of us in our own separate fashion. me? I think of him every time I play softball, and feel especially proud when I win the weekly game ball (our MVP prize) -- which I did last week. I don't really believe in heaven, but on days when I have a good game, I hope that he can see me somehow, and know that I am thinking of all the summer afternoons spent playing catch in the front yard.
happy birthday, steve. we miss you.
July 29, 2010
July 20, 2010
evidence
hay-related bruise, day 5. it still hurts to walk.
current state of the apartment (as of last night):
(bedroom)
(hallway)
(kitchen)
(living room, from kitchen)
(living room)
now do you see why I feel like a raving lunatic?
July 18, 2010
impaled
current number of large bruises on my body (unofficial tally): 11
on thursday, while doing my routine feeding, I had to retrieve a bale of alfalfa hay from the top of our haystack, six bales high. this happens sometimes. the way you do it is you find something tall to stand on, you grab the hay hooks, and you tip the stack over (sideways, NOT TOWARD YOU). all six bales fall to the ground. I've never found a better way. those bales weigh nearly a hundred pounds each; you can't just lift them and bring them down.
I have mentioned here before how dangerous hay can be. what happened on thursday: I went through the above manuever, choosing for my 'tall thing to stand on' the rear bed of the bobcat we use to haul hay, because it's significantly more sturdy than a ladder, and less likely to topple. I backed the bobcat just in front of the hay column and then braced myself to yank the bales down. after that, maybe because I was trying to slow their fall (and therefore not break the wood pallet on the ground below), my hand got stuck in the hay hook I was using, and the column of hay pulled me helplessly down with it, impaling me by the breastbone on the back corner of the bobcat's tailgate. I would have gone headfirst into the ground had the tailgate not caught on my shirt and bra, leaving me literally hanging upside down by my clothes two feet from the ground, my arm still attached to the hay.
I sat up in a daze, in that aftershock haze where you are just barely keeping yourself from screaming out loud or sobbing. I sat on my knees in the bed of the bobcat, my breath coming in shaky heaves, and took a tally of what hurt. I looked down at my shirt: no spewing blood. no obvious broken ribs. then I looked inside at what was burning: an 18-inch long gash running, like a seatbelt, from the top of my right boob to the middle of my abdomen. it was bleeding lightly into my sports bra and was already bruised in one place. my leg was also in a lot of pain, and had already lumped up, though I was not, at least, bleeding through my breeches.
I must have sat in the back of the bobcat for five minutes, just trying to pull myself together. I hurt like hell. my hands were visibly shaking. it was an accident I don't know that I could have prevented, because I never saw it coming. I suppose that's how accidents go.
I hadn't actually fed yet, so I had to go and throw hay into stalls, hoping not to plaster too much of it onto my open and vaguely bleeding chest wound. I took off my sports bra in the bathroom (OUCH) and then realized how much it hurt just to have my shirt touch my chest. putting my seat belt on was excruciating.
on friday I had to work from home because it was painful to wear anything but the baggiest shirt; there was no way on earth I could put on a bra. (I still haven't). today, the bruise on my thigh is larger than a grapefruit, still swollen, and a range of colors from yellow to nearly black. I actually haven't the faintest idea what I did to my leg -- I guess I hit the bobcat first with my thigh before impaling myself on the tailgate? the leg bruise is in many ways worse than the chest wound; it's much deeper and still painful to walk on. the chest wound has scabbed up and is, at least, less raw than it was on friday. the trade-off is that it's turned into the most unbelievable bruise, yellowish-green, covering half of my right boob. I wish I could show it off but for obvious reasons, I can't.
if I showed up to the beach in a bikini now, it'd look like I'd been mauled by a small bear.
moral of the story: you can never be too careful with hay bales. take my word for it, kids.
on thursday, while doing my routine feeding, I had to retrieve a bale of alfalfa hay from the top of our haystack, six bales high. this happens sometimes. the way you do it is you find something tall to stand on, you grab the hay hooks, and you tip the stack over (sideways, NOT TOWARD YOU). all six bales fall to the ground. I've never found a better way. those bales weigh nearly a hundred pounds each; you can't just lift them and bring them down.
I have mentioned here before how dangerous hay can be. what happened on thursday: I went through the above manuever, choosing for my 'tall thing to stand on' the rear bed of the bobcat we use to haul hay, because it's significantly more sturdy than a ladder, and less likely to topple. I backed the bobcat just in front of the hay column and then braced myself to yank the bales down. after that, maybe because I was trying to slow their fall (and therefore not break the wood pallet on the ground below), my hand got stuck in the hay hook I was using, and the column of hay pulled me helplessly down with it, impaling me by the breastbone on the back corner of the bobcat's tailgate. I would have gone headfirst into the ground had the tailgate not caught on my shirt and bra, leaving me literally hanging upside down by my clothes two feet from the ground, my arm still attached to the hay.
I sat up in a daze, in that aftershock haze where you are just barely keeping yourself from screaming out loud or sobbing. I sat on my knees in the bed of the bobcat, my breath coming in shaky heaves, and took a tally of what hurt. I looked down at my shirt: no spewing blood. no obvious broken ribs. then I looked inside at what was burning: an 18-inch long gash running, like a seatbelt, from the top of my right boob to the middle of my abdomen. it was bleeding lightly into my sports bra and was already bruised in one place. my leg was also in a lot of pain, and had already lumped up, though I was not, at least, bleeding through my breeches.
I must have sat in the back of the bobcat for five minutes, just trying to pull myself together. I hurt like hell. my hands were visibly shaking. it was an accident I don't know that I could have prevented, because I never saw it coming. I suppose that's how accidents go.
I hadn't actually fed yet, so I had to go and throw hay into stalls, hoping not to plaster too much of it onto my open and vaguely bleeding chest wound. I took off my sports bra in the bathroom (OUCH) and then realized how much it hurt just to have my shirt touch my chest. putting my seat belt on was excruciating.
on friday I had to work from home because it was painful to wear anything but the baggiest shirt; there was no way on earth I could put on a bra. (I still haven't). today, the bruise on my thigh is larger than a grapefruit, still swollen, and a range of colors from yellow to nearly black. I actually haven't the faintest idea what I did to my leg -- I guess I hit the bobcat first with my thigh before impaling myself on the tailgate? the leg bruise is in many ways worse than the chest wound; it's much deeper and still painful to walk on. the chest wound has scabbed up and is, at least, less raw than it was on friday. the trade-off is that it's turned into the most unbelievable bruise, yellowish-green, covering half of my right boob. I wish I could show it off but for obvious reasons, I can't.
if I showed up to the beach in a bikini now, it'd look like I'd been mauled by a small bear.
moral of the story: you can never be too careful with hay bales. take my word for it, kids.
July 3, 2010
small victories
- finally fixed my laptop, whose internal fan has been running constantly -- for no reason -- for almost two weeks.
- updated my address with various insurance agencies, subscription services, doctor's offices, and banks
- rode my horse for the first time in two weeks. I thought she was going to be unmanageable, but she was a sweetheart. she didn't give me any trouble (except one little buck which was kind of my fault) and moved like a total dream. my instructor said, "some days she looks like a $5,000 horse, and then there are days like today when she looks like a $20,000 horse."
- broke the psychological barrier and packed some boxes. I got my keys to the new place last night, and moved a tiny carload over today. threw open all the windows, plugged in an air freshener, and stood in the living room scratching my head, trying to decide on the future configuration of my furniture.
- sell a bunch of said furniture
- take a bunch of stuff to Goodwill
- pack my entire kitchen
- ride my horse again! twice in two days!
- heal from my random, softball-induced injuries (hip flexor, foot)
- get to the other side of this mountain of stress, already
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