***This post is part of SoCS: ‘Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “second.” Use it any way you’d like. Have fun!’ (Hill, Linda G., 7/22/16)***
The first thought that came to my mind regarding the word ‘second’ was second place and my childhood. The swim meets, basketball games, volleyball games, all sports played at a competitive level at a high priced, snooty, private Christian school. But we didn’t come in second place. I didn’t come in second place. It’s all about the win.
My mind has moved on to that one second two nights ago that–that half a second, really–where I stepped the wrong way.
#hillarythecat IS BACK WITH HER 3RD FLOOR TRAPEZE ACT. TA-DAHHHH. UNHAPPY MOMMY WATCHES FROM BELOW.
I am an American. A White American. I obey the law, I spend a lot of time doing normal things. I used to have a bad drinking problem but I wasn’t someone who became violent when I drank. I have been terrorized, taunted, disrespected, and otherwise treated like trash by the police. Quite frankly, I can’t stand law enforcement and I am very numb to their tragedies.
People might think this is an insensitive time to write this, but people die every day and we are in the middle of a national tragedy and a national discussion.
If I had some sense of direction…others tell me I just need to try harder to read maps, practice longer, blase, blah. I’ve tried and tried and tried and tried. After that I tried some more. If I had just gotten there on time. Hell, if I just managed to stay in the same county I was going to go to. If hadn’t taken that one wrong turn which in Tampa can mean going all the way across Tampa Bay and this wrong turn did. If I had stopped for directions or gas or I don’t know, a slurpee, I wouldn’t have been driving right beside that truck. Then I wouldn’t have had him hit me when he swung into my lane for some god awful, unexplainable, life-changing reason. Then he wouldn’t have smashed my car to smithereens and not gotten a scratch on his as he drove one of those huge, freight trucks. Then he wouldn’t have permanently damaged the L4 and L5 sections of my lower back, tearing part of the tissue wide open and away from my spine so everything comes out and rubs my spine and becomes inflamed. Then he wouldn’t have lied to the police and said it was my fault. Then when I figured out I was injured, I wouldn’t have gone to doctors who did x-rays and said you’re fine, there’s no breaks and gone to chiropractors and physical therapist and finally requested an MRI. Then when the results of the damage came back, I wouldn’t have been referred to a pain clinic where they they put me on opiates, yes, dangerous, addictive opiates, and started to do spinal tap procedures where they injected steroids as nerve blockers in my lower back and tailbone. Then I wouldn’t have those first few days after where I was horribly irritable from the steroids and in pain from the surgery. If one of those dreaded fat needles bearing irritation-producing steroids hadn’t gone in my tailbone two days ago, I wouldn’t have chewed out my landlord for a variety of what I felt to be justified issues this morning. Then I wouldn’t be sitting here, irritated, in pain, and now feeling like a real piece of shit.
THE INFAMOUS #hillarythecat
ANNA AT A BEAUTY PAGEANT
Dear Brother-In-Law —
This is for sure not meant to encompass the memories I have of the life with my sister in it. Some–most–of the memories are odd, random, but they stick out in my head for some reason. It’s funny what people remember about you. What do you think they’ll remember about you or I when we are gone? I bet it’s not what we’d guess. But here is a small attempt to describe just a little bit of the short time I had with Anna and the sister she was to me.
Growing up Anna followed me. Everywhere. We where two years and three months apart. I do remember getting to hold her on the couch and being warned about how carefully to hold her head. I was warned so many times, I remember being terrified that I was going to squish her head and she was going to have a big hole in it her whole life!
(L-R) ANNA, NAN, LAURA
I’m writing this a few hours late but I thought what the hell . . .
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