Then I ended up with a big ole swollen eye. Somehow I maneuvered a flake of Pacman nail polish into my cornea while lifting boxes.
He offered to drive me to the far north edge of town. It was miles away. A police chase had totalled my car a couple weeks earlier (I know what you’re thinking, but no, I was not involved). The insurance adjuster had finally come out to take a look at all the property damage along the street, which included my car, and I needed to go to her office up north and sign some paperwork. Great.
So he drove me what seemed like half way to Santa Fe. He was glad to, happy to spend some time with the girl he had met the day before after months of interaction on Twitter. I’m not making that up either, sad as it is; we met on Twitter.
So we met up, hung out, made out, and the next day journeyed to the far reaches of the Heights. It was March in Central New Mexico. The mornings were brisk and the days were getting increasingly warm, yet my jacket was not warm enough that day and I was miserably cold.
After the trip north we went to his apartment so he could feed/I could meet the dog. I asked if he had a sweatshirt I might borrow. I couldn’t shake the cold, but we had committed to dinner, and I was confident that with a bit of warm I could power through. Armed with two jackets, his sweatshirt, a scarf, and arm socks we met some new friends of ours for a bite and a drink.
I made it perhaps fifteen minutes at Gecko’s and asked him to take me home. The chills had turned into sweats and shakes. My head was pounding. I needed some Nyquil and my cat. He could wait.
The next day a new friend’s friend drove me up north again. This time we went to the urgent care, where I was deposited for the duration of the day. I was given fluids and some symptom relief, and the despairing news that last night during my first date I had come down with a roaring case of the swine flu.
“Go home. Expect it to last at least a week. Drink fluids. Stay hydrated. Have someone check on you. You’re young and strong. This may be the worst you ever feel, but it probably won’t kill you. Most likely.”
Flu shots. I got one today. Do you remember March 2011 when I came down with the swine flu? I do. Vividly. Well, kinda (I ended up passing out and hallucinating a lot). Never again. Never. Although if that’s what dying is like, as painful it is, it was also amazingly and indescribably beautiful; and despite carrying on for a week it felt surprisingly swift.
Do us all a favor. Go get your flu shot. Save yourself and all of those poor sniffling souls around you. There’s really no reason not to.
For three years now I have written this blog, pouring all the horrors of my heart and soul out for the world to see. Not anything of much consequence.
Three years ago I was posing naked in my local dive bar.
Three years ago I lived in Edo and worked for UNM.
Three years ago I hated working out and loved wearing heels.
Three years ago I really loved cheeseburgers.
Two years ago I was posing in yoga clothes in Santa Fe.
Two years ago I was living in Edo and working at Holy Cow.
Two years ago I was dying my hair pink on accident in an attempt to save money.
Last year I was donning my hiking boots out in El Morro.
Last year I was living in Midtown and working at Holy Cow and UNM.
Last year I read a lot of non-fiction about serial killers.
This year I am recently back from a bout of restless and fanatic travel with Floyd and the hound dog puppy.
This year I am marginally homeless and working at Holy Cow.
This year I’ve grown out my hair and added a feather to my locks.
Not too much has changed, honestly. Different projects, different boyfriends, different apartments, different random injuries, but the plot remains the same.
Reason enough to shake it up, I say.
Happy Anniversary, Linds!
The boyfriend has been tearing down weeds and trees and old fences and rock walls in the yard. It’s been a mess. The rainy season has been in full effect too so the big piles of soggy leaves and sticks have led to a whole lot of black widows around the house. And fleas. Little Frank definitely got some fleas. And then he gave them to a friend’s dog. They’ve been passing them back and forth for over a week now. I’m just waiting until I get fleas and from that the bubonic plague. Great.
So today I’m giving three flea baths, washing all the linens, vacumming all the crevices, soaping all the surfaces, and praying like hell that this is the last time I ever have to encounter this problem.
Remember back in the day when the weekends were fun? I miss that.
My top five favorite graphic novels in no particular order.
…wait… why do I have to pick favorites?
Sleeping in the rainforest. I was dreaming about the memory again last night.
We set up camp in the Olympic Mountains underneath a giant tree stump as big as the truck. We ate the fresh salmon we had bought in Olympia. After dinner we walked down to Hood Canal and took a swim in the bioluminescence. The water was cool and clear and glowing and perfect.
And for a moment there was peace.
We got out of the water and walked along the shoreline for a while. The beach was dark and quiet and serene. So dark, in fact, that we had somehow missed this sign:
I should know better than to think things can be so perfect.