bullet-dodger

September 26, 2008

I’ve dodged two bullets this month.  I’m stepping away from the front line, my kevlar is wearing thin.

I was going to stay in and have a quiet night to myself last night.  But, I got a call from a couple of friends and one of them happens to be a priest.  I’d been feeling sort of blah and scattered lately so I figured an evening with a priest might do me some good.  And it did!

A night out on the town with a local priest is like hanging out with someone in the mob.  Bottles of wine kept appearing at our table, people were slipping him cash, the owner of the restaurant brought me free food, tiramisu and cheesecake magically appeared.  Too much fun!  And we didn’t even talk about god…

September 11, 2008

On the skin underneath my right breast is a dark line from a black Sharpie marker.  This line extends down over my ribs and across towards my navel.  This mark outlines my liver, a perfect 6cm by 12cm blob.  I volunteered in class to be examined.  I lay on a hospital bed in our lab with my shirt lifted up and my belt buckle undone, my pants unzipped as 24 people stood above me.  Our professor inspected, palpated, percussed, and ausculted my organs.  I refused to have the line wiped away with an alcohol pad because I wanted to practice percussing my liver when I got home.  I think I finally can tell the difference between the “dull”, “flat”, and “resonance” sounds!

Being back in school feels soooo good.  I like having a purpose.  I like deadlines looming over my head.  I like connecting with classmates.  I love the pressure of having to do well.  Yesterday I rode home from class on my bike around 5:30.  I was appreciating the fresh, cool evening air while checking my mail.  My barefoot neighbor with bitched up hair stumbled out of the building.  He too is a student.  He asked me what day it was.  I paused for a bit too long before coming up with “Wednesday?”  We laughed.  Only a fellow serious student would understand.  I spent the rest of the night sprawled out on my couch (that I’ve successfully turned into a “day bed”), surrounded by books and highlighters.  I read about Health Policy and Politics, responded to discussion board questions online, took a Psychology test, wrote an involved essay about every part of the brain thats involved with eating, studied for a Microbiology exam, and reviewed my notes from class that day.  I paused only twice; once for a quick walk for a coffee, and the other time to cook up some beans and rice.  The beans were simmered with fresh vegetables that my friend gave me from out of her garden.  Thank god, because I’m still waiting for my student loan refund check and I can’t afford vegetables.  

When I retired to bed at half passed midnight,  I took a stack of American Journal of Nursing magazines with me and fell asleep dreaming of my future.

fixed windshield

September 2, 2008

I finally got the windshield replaced in my car and I’m happy about that.  Happy because I lied to my insurance company and because it feels like symbolic closure.  You see, last summer I was riding as the passenger in my car when a fight broke out between the driver (my boyfriend at the time) and myself.  Somewhere along I-89 in NH I kicked my windshield hard with my cowboy boot and it cracked.  The crack had grown considerably over the course of the year.  Expanding and elongating with the changes in temperature.  

Upon reading my previous entry, you’ll see that my relationships usually end with the smashing of glass or throwing of things.  However, I never clean up the pieces until long after the break-up, usually it’s when I meet someone new and don’t want to be responsible for them cutting themselves on shards of glass still on the floor of my apartment.  Do I leave these bits of glass around to remind me?  Or to hurt me?  

Regardless, I miss the crack in my windshield.

strike three

September 1, 2008

So I fell for a sexy man, a butch rugged man that smoked cigarettes and climbed into bed smelling like booze.  He knew how to fuck me and I knew better than to fall for him.  But I did fall for him, and here I am now.

Shaking and crying and pissed off that I’m upset.  After strike three I’d had it.  Each and of it’s own wasn’t a big deal, but combined was the straw that broke the camels back.  I found great pleasure in throwing cans of Genesse at his back.  Even greater satisfaction at throwing his shit out his window.  I proudly unlocked the door and walked out without looking back.  But I wished he call, and when he did, I didn’t listen to what he said.  In fact I’m typing this now while he’s talking, I don’t really care what he says anyway.