Lost Transits of Atlantis

Yay. My dear, dear friend has a blog too. So go give her some hits, eh? *cricket* Or not....Lost Transits of Atlantis

M

The Story of the Day I Changed (not for the faint of heart)

It will be three years ago this April, six months and about twelve hours from my birthday, a Sunday, the day my mother died. We were driving home from a farm tour, my father driving, my mom in the front seat, me directly behind her, and farming stuff we had gotten on the seat beside me. We were talking and laughing, playing a car game and listening to the radio, I think my dad was winning the game. It was seven, early dusk for the region and time of year, it would be a few hours til it was really dark. A deer came down the slope on the other side of the road, running into the oncoming lane. My mother saw it a warned my father, he started to brake. An on coming car came around the slight curve and hit the deer, an SUV. The was launched into the air towards our car, twisting as it flew. I saw it's eyes. I blacked out on impact, I felt the glass and blood fly around me, but through a haze, and I didn't see anything. When I opened my eyes my father asked if I was okay and looked at my mother. He yelled her name. The chair had been flung back and the deer was on top of her. There was blood everywhere. My father started to opeen his door, the car was rolling, it had been partically stopped when the deer hit us. He put on the parking brake and pulled the deer off of her, into the road. He came around and started trying to see if she was breathing, trying to clean her off so he could revive her. He tried to use the cell phone in the glove box but the batteries were dead. He shouted to the stopped cars and someone had already called for help. The paramedics didn't take long to get there, I don't remember how long my father tried before they got there. I sat in the car trying to hold my mother's head still while the paramedics worked on her and tried to get her out. She wasn't breathing at first, but then she was choking for air. I stayed until I couldn't stand it, til fear was making me clostraphobic in there. I got out of the car and went to answer questions with my father, give information about medical history and what happened. I started to feel overwhelmed again and sat down on the pavement. A paramedic helped me up and took me to an ambulance, they took my vitals and asked me if anything hurt and such while I tried to watch what was happening with my mother. They air lifted her to the nearest hospital while I was in the back of the ambulance. A trooper told us we should go home and get cleaned up, that we wouldn't want to come like we were. Blood spattered and glass coated. A neighbor took us home and my father told me to get in the shower. I cried there, washing the glass from my hair, I started sobbing so hard no sound would come out. I was so scared. After my shower, while my dad washed himself off, I put together things for my mom to wear. A new pair of shoes, clothes, an old pair of glasses. I remembered seeing her glasses, one lens broken, in the back windshield of the car. We drove to the hospital and saw the trooper who had been at the scene, he told us people were looking for us. My dad asked why. I think he found the doctor, or maybe not, I don't remember. Anyways, one of them told us she hadn't made it. I tried to crumple there in the hall, I hadn't even let myself fear it for more than a second. my father caught me and they took us into a side room, tissues on every table. That's what this room was for. We waited, a chaplain came and we sent him away again. Neither my father nor I are relgious. Doctors came and took us to another room and explained what had happened. Massive trauma to her entire torso, she stopped breathing in the helicopter and didn't start again, they tried to drain blood from her lungs and revive her but it was just too much damage. They had some paper work to fill out, asking us a few things, the woman who filled in the cause of death asked if it was all from a deer. At some point someone gave me water and I drank it. They took us to see her. She looked yellow and too still. they had cut her clothes from her and cleaned her up, she was covered in a blanket. There was blood underneath her and on the floor. Her hands were still as soft as always, but there was no warmth in her cheek when I kissed it and told her I loved I her. my father stroked her hair and told her he was sorry. A friend of ours, my mom's best friend, her daughter my best friend, were called to drive us. I forget what point they arrived at, but I remember the look of shock on my friend's face and I remember her sitting with me in one of the rooms while my father talked to someone somewhere else. There was a counselor there, she talked to me and I think my dad too, she asked me a few things about my mom. I remember when she asked me if I needed anything and I said I was fine she said no you aren't. It shocked me, but it was very, very true. She told me the things people will tell you when you're in pain, people who've dealt with people in pain and know what needs to be said. She told me and my father to take strength in each other before we left. Our freinds took us to there house, I think it was my choice, but it might have been both of us. My father made calls, to family and such. I cried so much I eventually ran out of tears and just sobbed. When we went to bed my dad went to sleep in the guest room and I couldn't decide if I wanted to be with him or not. I lay down in my friend's room but couldn't sleep, I ended going and sleeping with my dad. I don't think i really slept much, but I listened to him breath, and snore, for most of the night. As long as that sound continued I could be okay, or at least hold together enough. After the first bout of crying, the week or two were everything hurt even just being, I didn't really cry much. I never have been a person who cries. We stayed there for a few days, my father conducting arrangements, me just trying to catch a clear breath and be with him. Evetually we went home, I think we slept in the same bed when we went home too, I couldn't bear to be on my own. Family came and stayed with us before the memorial as did a friend of mine. At the memorial I met lots of people my mom had known who I hadn't and people who I had known who I hadn't seen in a very long time, some who hadn't met her but had heard a lot about her or had only known her briefly. I was told by someone there that I was a woman now, that I would shocked at how this would make me grow. And I have been. It changed me more than I know, more than anyone around me can see. I think about her all of the time, even when I don't really notice it. For the longest time I kept a list of everything I needed to tell her that she had missed, and I probably still do on an unconcious level. I hope I have the best of her in me, and I wish she could see me. The things I have and will do, the advice I need from her, I wish she could be there for all of it. It hurts to think that some day when I have children I'll have to tell them about a grandmother they can never know. As I experience things for the first time I think about how I wish I could talk to her about it. I'll never stop missing her, but I'll never stop being thankful for her either.
I'll have to check for typos after I dry my tears.
M

Lesson 1, School Sucks.

I'm not the studious type. I get good grades, I freak out if I don't, and I try to do the best I possibly can, I just really don't like it. The whole classroom environment, tests, deadlines, assignments, lessons, remembering the right facts, I just really don't enjoy it. The first semester of college courses I took had me so stressed and agitated that I cried till I could barely breathe and stayed up late into the night til my eyes wouldn't focus several times. I said I wouldn't do it again, but here I am. I don't hate this like I did that, these classes are a little more interesting. But I'm still not thriving in them, I still don't enjoy it. One class bothers me more than the other, I don't grasp the material yet, the professor and his assistant don't communicate with the students, and I don't really find the subject matter that interesting. If I hadn't had to I wouldn't have taken classes this semester, but I did what was asked of me. And I'll probably do it again next semester if it's asked of me. But I don't want to go through college, even if I think a career path that would require college would interest me I don't think it's worth it to me personally. People tell me how I will fail in life and not make any money and be a loser if I don't go to college, but that's really not the truth. Sure maybe if I wanted the kind of job that would benefit from that, if I had a dream of a driven career, then that would be the thing to do. But don't want that, I want to do lots of different things, I want to start something all my own and make my life something unique. That might sound ridiculous to some, but it's not that I don't think a college education is valuable it's just that I don't think I would benefit from it, at least not right now.
But I have to go study now, so more later.
M

Yet Another Long Day

I got up at 6:30 this morning, that coming off of tenish the past few days. I should say I dragged myself *out* of bed at that time I was in and out of sleep since a quarter past six and waited til I absolutely had to get up and get ready for work. I even managed to get in exactly on time, and wait five minutes for the manager to get there. I had a horrible hacking cough all day at work, I couldn't raise my voice loud enough to get people's attention or communicate with the deaf little old ladies. When I left they were undermanned, but I couldn't stay much longer then I was scheduled for. I only stayed fifteen minutes past when I was supposed to leave. I came home and thought really hard about what I had to do and what order I should do things in. I fell asleep sitting up reading my email and crawled in to bed for a nap. I set myself a fourty minute timer at around 3:40 and then slept fitfully til 5:00. I kept waking myself up coughing and asking myself how much time I needed to do things and which ones were most important. My body held final say by dropping me back into sleep just as I would decide to get up. When I finally did get up I took some medicine, started some laundry, and hastily edited and submited the paper I had due today before getting ready to go to my folks. By the time I called them and got myself cleaned up and out the door it was after six. I got there and hung out a little, had some of my dad's spectacular pizza and headed off the women's sohbet with my stepmom. I tried not to hug anyone too tight so I wouldn't spread as many germs and I couldn't sing because of my throat. But everyone was as sweet as always and I sang for my favorite illahi even though it hurt. It's funny, I'm not a religious person at all, in fact I have a certain bitterness about religious people piling their crap on me, but these folks never do that to me. They are very kind, they never pressure me about anything, and the things they say about their feelings and spirituality actually border on making sense. I have a sufi name and they all love me dearly, I sing with them and wrap myself in the blanket of their affection and extend the same to them, but I never have to worry about confusing that with sharing their beliefs because they never ask that of me. They ask me to come, they say they want to see more of me, they ask how I am, but they don't ask anything I am unwilling to give.
Anyways, I stayed out too late and my cough was building on me, my stepmom and I finally said our farewells at half til midnight and I got home at a quarter til one. And now I'm going to bring my dogs in and load up on blue-green cough medicine before crawling back into bed til I-don't-care-when tomorrow. Sweet dreams.
M

Games

Does she really think just because she doesn't see me cry it means I don't feel any pain? Is it really that I betrayed her, or is it that I stepped out of her control? Others have characterized her actions as those of a spurned lover, I have to say that that is how she sounds. It's always the same thing, I'm far away so she can't mope around for me to see. So she stays angry for a long time, lets something slip to her mom, who says something to him. Then he'll call me up or talk to me, tell me I should try to talk to her. So I do, and she gets angry. I say something wrong, something that is honest but upsets her, she gets angry or just leaves. And if she knows that I'm talking to her because of someone elses concerns, then, oh then she get livid. She won't speak to me, the last conversation I thought was civil really wasn't. If I don't say exactly what she wants, or do exactly what she wants, then I'm not trying, I don't care, I don't love her enough. She has as much as said these things to me. All these games to push me away and keep me close, a blow up now and then to make sure I still know, and she still has a reason to be angry. I'm not playing this game. People who hear my side think she's crazy, one person who I've delved into every detail with has been in an abusive relationship and says that it was like this, like the way I feel.
I don't miss her, not being with the way she is now, I miss the way we used to be but I wouldn't go back to it. I won't live her expectations, I won't think the thoughts she says are right, act the way she likes, love her and no other. A person cannot be another person's god, it can't last.
And I still love her, because I can't not love her, but I don't want that back. And I won't do this anymore, I won't contact her if this is what happens every time. If she wants to contact me, fine. If she wants to bring attacks and whatever guilt she thinks she can create, I won't have it. I don't want to talk to her, because that isn't talking.
M

Another One of Those Days

I had my sewing sale yesterday. I made just shy of a hundred and fifty dollars, but I still have a ton of stuff left over. I've been trying to figure out what to do with it, with some ideas from my stepmom and my dad. Hopefully I'll at least be able to give it to somebody who can use it even if I can't sell it. I'm falling behind in my studies a bit, trying to catch up on that today. Maybe I'll review some of the stuff I didn't get on me last exam, DNA seems to be evading my comprehension a little. I was starting to think I might get it before the test informed that I really didn't. Oh well, nose back in the books I guess.
I've been a little sick the past few days, today I can't barely talk because of my throat. I didn't answer the phone because I knew I wouldn't be able to be understood by the person I was talking to. It feels like it's letting go though, maybe I'll be better tomorrow. My stepmom rearranged my furniture and cleaned up my livingroom when she was here yesterday, she asked me if I had any pictures to put up. It looks like it needs some now that it's so damn tidy in there. Haha. She's a sweetheart, all of my family is. I guess I got lucky like that.
Speaking of, I've been expecting to see my sweetheart and not getting to for quite a few days in a row now. I'd be able to deal with not seeing him if I didn't have my hopes up before hand. He said he'd call and come over and hasn't a couple of times. If I don't see him tonight I'm going to be very unhappy, and he'll hear about it. I think I'm going to go pick up an expectorant and take a long hot shower before I get back to studying, but I have to get my work schedule today so maybe I should just make one longer trip before I get back to studying. Or I could just drink some tea and crawl back into bed... I hate being sick.

Sex Life, nothing explict mind you.

Some people can talk about sex in a normal voice in a public place, I'm not one of them. I turn pinkish and smile giddily, maybe nodding or mumbling comments if asked something. Even in private with friends I can't delve into intimate details, and there are some friends to whom I might not fully admit that I have a sex life. The person I don't talk about sex with whom I *know* I should is the person I'm having it with. We didn't talk about it before, we don't talk about it during and we don't talk about it after. Before we started having sex it was sort of understood that we were the others first, I know he was mine and I implied it, I think I was his but I haven't asked him. We've been sleeping together for a while, a couple of months, and my period has been an emense reasurance to me. It's funny how something can go from making you cranky to hopeful and comforted.
When we first started going out, he wanted me so much it was tangible, so much it scared me. He desired me so much that he would hurt me by mistake, kiss me too roughly or hold me too tightly, and I guarded myself from him to a degree. Now that he has me and he knows it, and I can let him know that I want him too and I'm not going anywhere, I'm much more comfortable. He takes cues from me and he has spent a night in my bed without anything happening. And it's not that passion has waned, it's more that care and love has grown. We actually have sex more than when we started to, and every time is even better than the last.
My major, nail-biting concern is that he doesn't protect me, but after a couple months without dire consequences I have to wonder if I inehirited my mom's fertility problems.

God, hope no one reads this. :P
M

Love and Logistics

A friend of mine is having problems with her boyfriend, she thinks they're going to break up. Looking at it from my spot on the sidelines is making me think. He is a lot like me, some of my weaknesses and strengths, and seeing her view and empathizing with her I see some things about myself. I understand what others don't like about me, I have more clarity on things I don't like about myself. I know the way she is, I know her strengths and weaknesses as well, and I wish he could see himself, and her, from the sidelines. Because she needs him, and I'm sure he needs her too, but she can't make him see what she's thinking and he won't do what she wants, but can't outrightly ask of him. It's odd, people are all so different, everyone is unique so they say, but we all seem to follow the same emotional patterns. We all seem to alienate each other in the same ways. We expect different things of each other from one moment to the next, we don't speak our minds in the blind belief that we are understood, or when we do we are angry that our thoughts come as a surprise. Sometimes I worry about my own relationship, not because I don't love my sweetheart, but because I have no idea how to handle being in love. I know the things I should change about my behavior, but it doesn't make it easier to face up to doing that. I don't say what I'm thinking, I don't have the courage to bring up what I agonize over in my head. I'm afraid of being loved too deeply because I don't know where that will take me, and I'm afraid I would let myself end up just along for the ride.

Death and Life.

My snake died yesterday. She was fine before that, crawling around, drinking, it was just about time for her feeding. But then, the next morning, curled up motionless. I had been fearing this, my lizard died a month ago, I've been feeling cursed, like it was only a matter of time before things started to die from being near me. She probably had no real affection for me, I admit that, but she was a sweet little creature and I did love her. If I knew what was wrong then I wouldn't be so hurt, if I could have at least tried to help then I wouldn't feel like I missed something. It has to be one of the worst things, having a being in your sole care die, being the god of something's immediate world and failing to live up to that responsiblity. I think I'm going to give up reptiles for a while. I used to be so good with them, but I hate this.

I was thinking last night, while I was working with things of my mother's, getting them ready to sell. I was thinking that I don't think I know anyone else who would admit that they wish they were more like their mother. Not because she was perfect and I worship her, but because her flaws were so small and her good traits were so beautiful. I'm certain that if she had lived to teach me to be the woman she was by example I would not have appreciated that, she had to be absent for me to see her. I realise I didn't really know who she was when I was a kid, I loved her very much, when I was little she was always my world and constant, but I didn't appreciate that and I didn't know her thoughts or the events of her past. Now I find things she wrote and painted and made, and I do feel close to her. I hope the things I love in her are in me, I hope that as I was with her before, I'm simply too close to see them.

M

The First Dream I've Remembered In Months

Just before I woke this morning I had a dream. One that I felt I had had before as a child. It was probably different then, my character was probably a child, it was probably set in the house I lived in then, but when I woke I was convinced I had dreamed it before long ago. I dreamed I came into a room, which was mine but I was not simply myself, and found my comrades around a great many tanks of snakes. My snakes. There were dozens of them, some I recongnized as real species, some patched together from reality. The lids of their tanks were all ajar and they were crawling around, some visiting other species some moving away from the table and bed they were on. I started trying to put them back and chastizing my comrades for releasing them. They gave an odd defense, I don't quite remember, the snakes had needed exercise, or asked, or something. The snakes almost spoke to me, but they made no noise. They were confused and trying to find their ways back to their homes. I put them back and as I was collecting the last someone burst into the room and opened fire on us with a machine gun. I hit the floor and watched as some of my comrads did the same, or fired back. I tried to protect the snakes and myself, some of my comrads fell doing the same. I pulled a lid to one of the tanks in front of me, knowing that the bullets couldn't pierce it. The woman firing at us focused on me and I moved the lid to block her as I crawled towards her. When she turned to fire away from me again I rose and struck her with my cover in the gut. She swung her gun towards me but didn't raise it. I struck her again on the shoulder and brought her to her knees. She looked at me and asked me why I had been able to defeat her when she had felled many of the expert agents I worked with. I responded that I was not an agent and raised my odd, light weapon to underneath her chin.
When I woke, I believed I had dreamed it before. I also realised how odd it was, almost campy. A hero weilding a plastic lid, who stops a slaughtering with a single blow? The snakes and blood and sounds, and the way my pulse was racing from the reality of it, were the only things to keep me from laughing my ass off at it.