You are viewing ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=92.1){kind=small}
lydy's journal
You are viewing lydy's journal
|
|||||||
 |
|
|
|||||
|
Lydy's Anarchist Revival Meeting  I have a cat. Her name is Arwen. (She's not the cat in my user icon. That is Lilith, a previous cat.) Arwen is not the smartest cat in the world -- I've had one of those. She is not the stupidest cat in the world -- I've had one of those, too. She's not the most or best of anything. But I love her quite without reservation. She sits with me. She sits on me. She complains when it's dinner time. She ignores me when I want attention, and is all over me when I want to type on LJ. But I look at her and I say, "You make me smile every day." And she does. I'm a happier person because my cat loves me and I love my cat. She has an endearing habit of sitting on one of my hands while I'm using the computer, making it possible to websurf, but nearly impossible to type. When I watch television, she will usually sit in my lap, often nestling her head into the crook of my elbow, and give me a trusting look, sometimes stretching out a possessive paw to rest on my chest. And I look at her and say, "You make me smile every day." I think we fail to value "good enough." Really, my cat isn't anything special. I got her at the pound ten years ago. Random luck, they were the only one with kittens when I was in the market for kittens. I chose her and her sister, Naomi, and did not choose their brother. All of this based on about ten minutes acquaintance. Would her brother have been a better fit? I will never know. In the last decade, we've grown into each other. Was she the best cat ever? What does that even mean? She's my cat, I'm her human, and we get on together very well. Insofar as a cat can be deeply attached to a person, she's attached to me. And I am utterly besotted with her. She started out being a completely adequate feline companion. Over the years, she's become an indispensable part of my life. But that's as much, if not more, because of habit and proximity as any innate wonderfulness about her. We grew into each other. She makes me smile every day. My mother once went on at great length about how everything was meant to be, or some such, because due to a series of what seemed fairly catastrophic circumstances, she met her current husband, who helped her out of a bad marriage, and into a much better life. She wondered what would have happened if we hadn't moved to Washington, Iowa. What would have happened, I think, is that she would have found someone else. She was in a place where she needed someone. The world is full of someones. Eventually, she would have found someone who would have helped her, and who needed her help. The world is endlessly complex and plastic. It's not guaranteed that she would have found someone, or that that that someone would have been as great as my step dad certainly is, but I think it highly likely that eventually, she would have found what she was looking for. There are a lot of people out there. Really a lot. Was there a better person, in some absolute sense? What does that even mean? Absolute, how? Circumstances matter a lot. Timing matters a lot. Right place, right time, beats perfect every time. My cat, she is the right cat at the right time. My step dad, the right step dad at the right time. My boyfriends, the right guys at the right time. Are there more awesome people in the world? Oh, probably. But they're not, you know, in my world. And that's not denigrating or holding in less value the people I love. Being there, actually being there, is more than half the battle. It is the most important piece. People, cats, relationships, come in contexts. They exist interdependently. These contexts, these inter-dependencies, are vital and interesting. They are part of who we are, both to ourselves and to other people. We tend to undervalue them. Tend to think of people as Platonic ideals, tend to think of all the moving parts of our lives as discrete. They're not. We are who we are because of who we love, and they are who they are because they love us, and because of where we are in our lives, and hundreds of other contextual facts. And that's ok. We are both more and less than singular selves. Is my cat the best cat in the world? Yes. She makes me smile every day. I just want to say that I love my cat. As cats go, she's not particularly special. She's not particularly smart (I've had a couple of those) and she's not particularly stupid (I've had one of those, too.) While she's good looking, she's only good looking the way all cats are. She's a bit stocky, and she's a muted tortie, which means she's mostly grey. Really, nothing special to look at. And cute cat stories...well, I got nothing, really. I mean, she does all the usual cat things, but nothing particularly notable. But. She sits on my lap, a lot. And she purrs. And she looks at me, and seems to trust me. I'm perfectly aware that a cat's emotional landscape is not identical to a human's. I'm aware that her apparent fondness for me does not perfectly map to my own emotional responses to her. While I do believe that cats can feel emotions, fondness among them, I sincerely doubt that she's capable of deep, emotional responses. But, you know, she does love me as much as she's able, I think. And I dote on her. I don't really know why I have such a strong emotional response to her. But there you have it. I love my cat. (I should mention that I actually have two cats, and that I'm quite fond of Naomi, as well. But really, she's more David's cat than mine, and she doesn't sit with me, or nag me, and isn't generally as companionable as Arwen. At least with me and cats, it's not absence that makes the heart grow fonder, but presence.) Today I was able to go up the steps like a normal person, without leaning heavily on the banister. I guess I'm finally healed. Two and a half weeks, not too bad, really. Yay for knees! So, I made it through my first day with my new car. Well, first work day, I mean. It was ok. The car is wider than my old car. I found that it has cruise control, which I totally set coming home. I drove the speed limit (well, 5 miles over the speed limit, which is roughly the same thing). It felt very slow. That's ok. I took the fatal curve at 40 mph, probably the slowest I've ever taken it. That's ok, too. I looked to see where I'd impacted the wall, but the whole thing is covered with scuff marks where people have presumably done much the same thing. I also managed to get down on the floor and attach leg wires ok. It's a bit tricky getting up and down, and I can't just kneel, I need to sit and stick my right leg straight out, but it worked. So, it's all good. I think I like my new car a little better than I did. I may grow reconciled. So, Saturday morning, I'm driving home from work. It's after a 13 hour shift, and I'm tired. But, you know, not really, really tired. Just tired as in a long day at work. I'm not really in a particular hurry. I always get breakfast on Saturdays at the Blackbird Cafe, which has this outstanding oxtail hash (with beets!), and it was closed a week ago, what with it being Christmas Eve and all, but really no reason to hurry. There's a 35 mile an hour curve on 35W just after you get on it from 94, and I was going too fast. No good reason. Don't really know how fast I was going -- didn't look at the speedometer. I think, "You know, if you go too fast around the curve, you can lose control...I'm losing control... wait, I've got it...no I don't have it... turn in the direction of the skid...I'm not really skidding...got it...no, I don't got it..." long pause where I don't really remember what was going on, and then, I hit the wall in the median. It was a significant impact. I know I've done that curve at 50 mph, and been fine, so I was probably doing faster than that. I don't remember hitting the brakes...surely I did? I don't know. The airbag went off. The passenger side airbag. The driver side airbag didn't. I knew that the airbags were compromised. I thought, "I've got to call David." Then I thought, "I'd better call 911." I called 911. They said, "Are you the white SUV on the 35 MPH curve?" I said, "Yes." They said, "Do you have your seatbelt on?" I said, "No." They advised that I put it on again. So I did. I had been wearing it during the accident, but for some reason, I'd taken it off before I called 911. I don't really know why. I put it back on and called my boyfriend, DDB. I don't remember too much of what I said. I do remember saying, "Please tell me what to do." I was, um, distraught. Some point in there, I removed my glasses and cast them aside. I often do this when I am upset, the better to run my hands over my face and hair, I suppose. I told DDB that the cops had shown up, and hung up. The state trooper made me get in his car. I didn't have my glasses. This upset me a lot. I felt very vulnerable and blind. The door to his car locked, and I couldn't get out. I turned out my purse three or five times, looking for my glasses. He came back and said that he had looked in my vehicle, and my glasses were no where to be found. He went away again, me still trapped in his vehicle, and started setting out flares. Somewhere in here, it finally occurred to me that I had been in serious danger of being hit by oncoming traffic. My car was perpendicular to the road, obstructing most of the left-most lane of traffic. I had been, in fact, in significant danger. I vaguely remember various vehicles veering around me, and having trouble avoiding me. I should have realized earlier that I was in significant danger, but really, until the cop started acting all concerned, it hadn't really occurred to me. Stupid me. The cop let me get out of his car (now that the flares were set) and rummage around in my vehicle for my glasses. I was really upset about not being able to see. Eventually, I found my glasses. They'd fallen in between the center console and the passenger side seat. I felt, not better, but not as frantic without my glasses. The cop called a tow truck. Eventually the tow truck came, and we towed the car to a local body shop, quite near my house. I don't really have good words for my state of mind. It was chaotic, as you would expect. But it was also, I don't know, I just don't know. Here's the thing. I don't do well with the unexpected. My life is fairly predictable. I don't know if I would say that I like it that way, but it's what I strive for. I need to be able to imagine my life. And for all that I read sf, I don't actually have a very good imagination. I can best imagine things that I have already experienced. So now my life was launched into the unknown. Because, the vehicle I was used to driving was totaled (I had no doubt of that), and I had to get to work next Wednesday, and I had just proved myself unable to drive myself, and things just felt like they had spiraled out of control. I felt so stupid. So very, very stupid. I have no excuse for this accident. It wasn't dark. It wasn't slippery. I didn't have a micro-sleep. I was just going too fast, and failed to maintain control of my vehicle. I am a bad driver. I felt like a total failure as an adult. I still feel pretty much like a failure. I had thought that driving to work for the last year had made me a better driver. But I had gotten casual, careless. Which is how I'd totaled DDB's car two years previous, making a left turn into oncoming traffic. Different mistake, same underlying cause: carelessness and arrogance. The tow truck driver was very nice. He towed my car to a body shop, and then drove me home. He let me bum a cigarette. (I only smoked half of it. I'm a stress smoker, but even under this much stress, it smelled bad to me. I must be getting older.) Although I felt fine at the time of the accident, by the time we got to my house, my right knee would barely support my weight. I got in the house, and couldn't find my my cell phone. I called on the house phone, down to DDB in the basement, knowing I couldn't manage the steps. I asked him to come upstairs and help me. Really, I didn't need too much help. I managed to fill a zip lock with ice on my own. I iced my knee. Mostly, what he did was sit with me for a couple hours while I elaborated on the theme of why I was not an adult, and not fit to live. He allowed as how I wasn't allowed to shoot myself because it would give the gun lobby a bad name, and that hanging myself wasn't allowed largely because it wasn't allowed. I was not, I hasten to add, actually suicidal. It was just that I was all out of cope, completely out of cope. I didn't know what I was going to do next, or how, or what was going to happen. My knee was in bad shape, and I didn't know if I would be able to go to work on Wednesday, much less how I would get there. Eventually, I went to sleep. It took a while to actually fall asleep; every time I closed my eyes, I was reliving the accident. This is not conducive to sleep. On Monday, DDB (who is remarkably wonderful in so many ways) took me car shopping. The car I crashed was a 1998 Suburu Forester. I really, really liked that car. It cost me $3000, which I paid in cash from my student loans when I was looking for a job because I work third shift in the suburbs, and I really need a vehicle to commute. Bus is not really an option. I didn't have $3000 to buy a car outright, I needed financing. Not happy. But, you know, you do what you have to do, or something. What I ended up with was a Hyundai 2003 Santa Fe. There are various reasons, but it's hard to avoid the fact that one of the reasons was that I was very tired (I hadn't slept well the night before) and they'd sell me that today. Also, the offered a warranty on it. Which suggests that it must be in pretty good shape. Although I had loved my Forester, I'd spent as much on it over the last year in basic maintenance as I'd spent on the purchase price, and there was more to come. So, hopefully, this guy is in better shape. It has weird features. The side mirrors are electronically adjustable. Which is nice, but not something I'd pay extra for. It has a sun roof, which I actually dislike, but there you are. It has climate control, which is nice, but it's in Celsius. I haven't figured out how to put it in Fahrenheit. It has heated seats (also known as bun-warmers.) Nice, but again, I don't really care. There are a bunch of buttons on the rear view mirror that I haven't figured out what they do, yet. It has a CD changer, instead of a cassette deck, which is an actual disadvantage, since all my book-on-tape are on cassette. It feels a lot more like a truck than my old SUV. It has a peppier engine. Which is not a particularly good thing. (I've decided that I'm totally driving the speed limit from now on.) It feels, I don't know, more smug some how. And much larger. I don't really like it. But that's partly because I'm in mourning for my Suburu Forester. Which, as I said, I really really loved. Hopefully, this monster truck will grow on me. So, it's Wednesday. I have a new vehicle which I don't really like but which will probably do the job. My knee will now bend all the way, but it doesn't much like stairs. I'm still doing those one leg at a time. I'm hopeful that I can kneel down in front of my patients tonight to attach leg wires without, you know, howling in pain or falling over, and also being able to stand back up. (I kinda tried it just a bit ago, and it hurts, but it looks do-able). My neck and shoulders, which hurt a lot on Sunday, seem to be fine again. My breast bone, right between my breasts (presumably where the seat belt caught me) still hurts a little, but not nearly as much. So, I guess I'm good to go. So, that's been my weekend. All in all, I'd rather have been in Philadelphia. Don't really know what to say. We were there a couple of hours. DDB took a bunch of pictures. My favorite sign, hands down, was "Serfs Up." Brilliant sign. The people we talked to seemed neither more nor less clued than I would have expected. It's early days, they haven't really cohered, and it's all up in the air. Which is as it should be at this stage in the game. It seems to be mostly real people, doing real things, which is cool, but messy and difficult to sum up. There were two flavors of security there, not counting the OccupyMN people. One one was city cops, the other I'm not sure, but maybe the building security people? Don't really care. They hung out in groups of two to four, but they met people's eyes, smiled, and generally seemed calm and non-threatening. About ideal. I didn't go over and talk to them because I couldn't think of anything intelligent to say. I don't know if this is just a spasm, or the next big thing. Time will tell. I have hopes. At least, they seem to be protesting the right things: the big money, the inequality in the distribution of wealth. That, to me, in really the central issue. So, I have hopes. But not much in the way of intelligent thoughts, unfortunately. I'm feeling much better, now. Thank you all for being so patient with my whining. I now have a colossal headache, but that should be manageable with ibuprofen. For the first time in 10 days, my throat doesn't hurt. Yay for antibiotics and Vicodin. So, the second dose of Vicodin actually helped quite a bit. Still no recreational possibilities, but the pain is mostly gone. I do feel a trifle woozy, but nothing to worry about. This is the best I've felt in 9 days, so definitely a win. Yay for that. And I can take it all day tomorrow. Wednesday, I have to work, so I won't be able to take it then. But who knows, maybe I'll start feeling better by then. So, the nice doctor agreed that I had been sick for long enough, and that I probably didn't have strep throat. He gave me an antibiotic and Vicodin. Score! The nice man at the pharmacy said that I shouldn't use the Vicodin while driving or at work. Which limits its usefulness somewhat, but otherwise sounds promising. The problem with the antibiotic is that it can't be taken with dairy. Which sounded fine, until I remembered my daily cappuccino. Oh, noes. I must drink regular black coffee! How will I cope. Meanwhile, I took my first Vicodin an hour ago, and my throat still hurts. Not a lot, but still. So, what gives? I was hoping to be cheerfully and comprehensively out of it by now. Oh, well. Maybe I will have a popsicle. That's what the nurse suggested for sore throats as a way of pushing fluids. Which I need to do with the antibiotic, supposedly. Drugs, good. Hope I start feeling better soon, as I am deeply, deeply bored with being sick. It's not getting better. It's getting worse. I just woke up. Can't get back to sleep, my throat hurts. So I take ibuprofen. Lie back down. Start coughing. So I took some more cough syrup. (Have I mentioned that I hate cough syrup? I checked the ingredients. On the list of "inactive" ingredients: menthol. Menthol upsets my stomach. Why, oh why, do they include menthol? Bastards.) So now, here I am, 3:30 in the morning, waiting for the cough suppressant to start working again. This is a first. Always before, once I fell asleep, I was fine. Gods, I hate being sick. Whine whine whine. Sorry. As in, I feel sorry for myself. Not terribly interesting, but there you go. |
|||||||
|
|
|
|||||
