Shannon Larratt is Zentastic

Not that I am superstitious, but I had the worst imaginable triskaidekaphobia-confirming Friday the Thirteenth. I was out with Nefarious grabbing some groceries and Caitlin was off at work. It had already been a trying day, but I thought I’d be okay to do these simple chores. Nonetheless, I was really at the limits of my ability to fight the exhausting pain that was growing worse as I struggled against the throbbing weakness that was trapping me in a body that I could hardly control, pushing myself ahead literally one step at a time. I might not be able to do two more steps, but I know I can take one more. And then one more. And again. And again. I was approaching a point where I wasn’t going to make it home, so with obvious urgency I lined up with perhaps half the shopping list fulfilled. I’ll spare you the retail-rage-inducing story of me being forced to waste the last of my resources searching the store for the woman in front of me at the checkout, who’d realized she’d forgotten to find herself the perfect bag of chips and decided to go and look for it, never mind the fact that all her other groceries had been scanned already and there was a long impatient line with no other options behind her.

On one hand, making it to the car was a huge relief, but on the other hand, I wasn’t looking forward to driving home, even if it is only a ninety second drive home. I told Nefarious as we neared the house that I was worried I was going to throw up and she comically pinned herself against the car door, putting as much distance between us as possible, making a hilarious grossed-out face as she did some mental calculations as to whether she should be amused or concerned, quickly settling on both. After a sloppy and skewed parking job, I turned off the ignition to a chorus of “quick, open the door, because Caitlin will be so mad if you throw up in her car!” In a haze, I did just that (the prior, not the dreaded latter), narrowly succeeding in launching past the door sill a psychedelic stream of bile-heavy vomit with a few bits of pear to add another shade of green. I was half collapsed and hanging out, not entirely conscious, held in the car by the Mustang’s old fashioned lap belt, and when I came to a few minutes later I undid the belt and unceremoniously felll out of the car into the vomit, crawled a few feet and collapsed completely, prone.

It took a minute to find the strength to make my arm go through the motion of reaching into my pocket for the keys, which I gave to Nefarious. Without prompting, the first thing that she did was run inside to grab a pillow to put under my head to keep me comfortable. She then got the heavy bags of groceries out of the trunk and put them in the fridge as I lay there. She wanted to know whether to call 911 (something that I’d already considered), but I assured her that I was just sick to my stomach, which forced me, after fifteen minutes of lying there recovering what little I could, to drag myself into the house to avoid being over-ruled on the 911 call. Nefarious helped me to the bed in our front room, which is also the coolest room in the house, and got me some water. She really did take excellent care of me.

I was at once horrified at what she’d just been exposed to, but also very proud at how maturely she handled it and how well she kept her head on her shoulders, to say nothing of how touched I was at the kind and caring treatment. But what really broke my heart and left me not knowing how to respond, was when she said matter-of-factly but with deep sadness, something to the effect of “I know that you’re sick, but when things like this happen I think that you’re going to die soon.” It was everything I could do not to break down in tears. I did my best to reassure her that everything was back to normal by reading and playing cards, both things I could do without having to move, and I think it helped but the doubt and worry was obviously still troubling her. At every opportunity that I’ve felt strong since then, I try and pick her up and do other “feats of strength” to show her that I’m alright, but it’s difficult, because I’m not, and that’s getting much harder to hide, although I hope that Friday stays an anomaly for as long as possible. I grew up with a dad that seemed like the biggest, strongest, most indestructible guy on the planet. That was my experience. I don’t really know what to do, how to handle this, how to talk to my family about these issues… I’m not afraid of dying, and I have to admit that some days I wonder what the value is in having a long drawn out painful death, but then I think of the responsibilities that I have to Nefarious and Caitlin, and I just feel horrible guilt for having those thoughts.

Anyway, tomorrow’s another day, and I’m completely certain that it will be a much better day.

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Oh, and I liked this valedictorian speech that a girl recently gave, echoing many of the points I raised ages ago in BME editorials that quoted all the same John Taylor Gatto et al sources (the original links and formatting are gone, but a couple are still archived here and here).

While I’m posting a inspired video (and not the classic sort that I regularly send Nefarious in her email), I was happy to see Anderson Cooper beating up on political liars, not letting them get away with using the news (let alone the floor of Congress) to spread blatant disinformation… if only this was a regular occurrence, journalists doing their jobs of bringing the public the truth. Now that I give it some thought, I shouldn’t feel inspired by this — it should be the norm. But until it is — and imagine what a different world this would be if it was — a guy can dream, right?

Oh, and I don’t think I mentioned this, but I wanted to give credit to the flikr group from which I’ve been pinching the excellent distressed vignette type textures that you’ve seen here recently. Here’s that link — it’s definitely worth your while to grab them to save yourself some time making your own.

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Anyway, it’s very late and although I’m plenty exhausted I’m not at all tired, I’m going to try and find the sleepiest music I have and hope for the power of lullabies.