I've always wondered how much my life is worth - now I know:
$14,677.22
(I'm guessing there was a substantial service charge for the emergency crew having to tolerate my sister's bossiness. When she walked into my house to see me strapped to the gurney, with so many men in blue standing around with their arms crossed, she told them to put their arms by their sides, "Why are we standing like this, when we should be standing like this?" She also insisted on riding in the ambulance, so they let her in the front seat. She didn't, fortunately, demand to drive).
6.28.2007
6.20.2007
Instant karma
How to get your dad to drive 15 hours for a last minute father's day visit: overdose, spend some time in ICU, then have your sister given the authority to commit you to a mental institution for one year. Granted, there might be easier ways.
For the icing on a week full of beer, no sleep, and a passive dumping, I talked to Ed on the phone. The initial awkward topic was Patrick, which somehow evolved into his telling me that he was strapped for cash because he was buying a new house and moving in with his girlfriend. Too much information. "Great," I said. "I'll talk to you later. Bye."
During our marriage, I always assumed HE was the problem; the control freak that was lucky to have me. Ha. Turns out I'm the unlovable one, the girl that can't seem to find anyone else. Eight beers followed in quick succession, to wash down the bottle of beta blockers and a handful (or two) of Tylenol 3 that had been prescribed to him after knee surgery. Every attempted suicide needs irony, afterall.
Though there physically, details came later about the fire truck, police cars and ambulance ride to the emergency room. My auto pilot had no measurable blood pressure, so there was talk of a pacemaker. In the end they found an antidote to the beta blockers, which relived Patrick - he was worried I'd never be able to make microwave popcorn again.
Around 4:30 a.m., with a "stable" heart rate around 40 bpm, they wheeled me from the emergency room to the I.C.U. I realized I wouldn't be going into work and called in with a vague explanation of a history of heart trouble. Co-workers came to visit, bringing magazines and plants. Making small talk on a good day, is painful for me. Making small talk with i.v. tubes, heart and blood pressure monitors, and oxygen tubes in my nose while I unceremoniously vomit into a plastic kidney shaped bowl, is hell.
I feel like a fraud who doesn't deserve well wishes or concern - I did this to myself. Relatives and friends battle cancer, praying for more time, while I carelessly try to cut mine short. Why isn't there a life barter system? Watching my dad cry, thinking he failed, and knowing the hell my son and sister went through...depression, apparently, is better served with guilt.
For the icing on a week full of beer, no sleep, and a passive dumping, I talked to Ed on the phone. The initial awkward topic was Patrick, which somehow evolved into his telling me that he was strapped for cash because he was buying a new house and moving in with his girlfriend. Too much information. "Great," I said. "I'll talk to you later. Bye."
During our marriage, I always assumed HE was the problem; the control freak that was lucky to have me. Ha. Turns out I'm the unlovable one, the girl that can't seem to find anyone else. Eight beers followed in quick succession, to wash down the bottle of beta blockers and a handful (or two) of Tylenol 3 that had been prescribed to him after knee surgery. Every attempted suicide needs irony, afterall.
Though there physically, details came later about the fire truck, police cars and ambulance ride to the emergency room. My auto pilot had no measurable blood pressure, so there was talk of a pacemaker. In the end they found an antidote to the beta blockers, which relived Patrick - he was worried I'd never be able to make microwave popcorn again.
Around 4:30 a.m., with a "stable" heart rate around 40 bpm, they wheeled me from the emergency room to the I.C.U. I realized I wouldn't be going into work and called in with a vague explanation of a history of heart trouble. Co-workers came to visit, bringing magazines and plants. Making small talk on a good day, is painful for me. Making small talk with i.v. tubes, heart and blood pressure monitors, and oxygen tubes in my nose while I unceremoniously vomit into a plastic kidney shaped bowl, is hell.
I feel like a fraud who doesn't deserve well wishes or concern - I did this to myself. Relatives and friends battle cancer, praying for more time, while I carelessly try to cut mine short. Why isn't there a life barter system? Watching my dad cry, thinking he failed, and knowing the hell my son and sister went through...depression, apparently, is better served with guilt.
6.08.2007
Copper lining
My son always uses my first name when he's irrate or pissed off, which is about 93% of the time, as far as I can figure.
"Colleen," he said two weeks ago, on the phone, "your house is trashed and everything is gone."
"What? WHAT?! Don't touch anything - I'll be right there."
I geared up for a mini-tirade after I dialed 9-1-1 and the operator asked for my husband's name. "Oh, right," I thought, "I'm some helpless, fair maiden without the means to support myself or buy my OWN house in this hillbilly, backwoods...er, my son Patrick probably already called in, didn't he?"
Some good news?
1. Three eighteen year old boys were arrested the other day, hopefully putting an end to our small town crime spree, and I can almost fall asleep without worrying that they'll come back for the other half of the miter saw they left behind.
2. Our dog's probabation period is almost up. Did she offer to hold the door open for them?
3. Cleaning a clutter/game/electronic-free home takes hardly any time at all. Who needs a yard sale?
4. My insurance company reimbursed the full cost of my laptops, not what they would be worth today, and I can once again surf my favorite internet watering holes. Latest curse word, however: Vista (as in "damn Vista!").
5. The $14.70 I claimed for the stolen case of bud light? They reimbursed that, and I upgraded to Corona.
"Colleen," he said two weeks ago, on the phone, "your house is trashed and everything is gone."
"What? WHAT?! Don't touch anything - I'll be right there."
I geared up for a mini-tirade after I dialed 9-1-1 and the operator asked for my husband's name. "Oh, right," I thought, "I'm some helpless, fair maiden without the means to support myself or buy my OWN house in this hillbilly, backwoods...er, my son Patrick probably already called in, didn't he?"
Some good news?
1. Three eighteen year old boys were arrested the other day, hopefully putting an end to our small town crime spree, and I can almost fall asleep without worrying that they'll come back for the other half of the miter saw they left behind.
2. Our dog's probabation period is almost up. Did she offer to hold the door open for them?
3. Cleaning a clutter/game/electronic-free home takes hardly any time at all. Who needs a yard sale?
4. My insurance company reimbursed the full cost of my laptops, not what they would be worth today, and I can once again surf my favorite internet watering holes. Latest curse word, however: Vista (as in "damn Vista!").
5. The $14.70 I claimed for the stolen case of bud light? They reimbursed that, and I upgraded to Corona.
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