i won’t lie, before i got into bed tonight, i put on a pair of nice panties. in case i have to be rushed by paramedics away from here, perhaps to die, i want nice panties on. not those too-small fuschia ones with white dots that i wore earlier. they kept inching down my butt, forcing me to pull, in an unladylike fashion, at my skinny jeans and the thing fabric underneath. i felt exposed. but now i just feel sleepy. and thoughtful. what if i did die tonight? i don’t feel ready. my daughter’s only 11. i just got her home from her summer away. things are pleasant between the beau and i. and i haven’t even had the chance to tell anyone that i’ve re-considered wearing clothing to my funeral after all. at first, i thought nudity or simply loose fabrics made the most sense, but today, i thought, i could just wear my skinny jeans and a t-shirt. bare feet (painted toes, please), my silver rings and bracelets, and maybe some hoops, if they’d lay right, my hair down, a nice nude gloss, and idk, i really don’t want my hands folded unnaturally across my chest or stomach. that’s just weird. why must the deceased go into infinity in unnaturally polite poses?
ugh. i’m so off topic. i sat down to write about my concussive event, and all the paranoid thoughts about dying that came as a result of it. this morning, in bed, fooling around with said beau, i jerked my body away from him, a little too quickly, playfully but forcefully, smack dab into the inch-thick layered glass and metal CORNER of my nightstand. the noise of my head and the table making contact, upon impact, was quite impressive. it shook us both. later, my daughter, who was in another room, told me she thought something had fallen into the tub. in the moment, he grabbed me quickly and held me close. everything felt too sudden, i squirmed away, telling him to be still…trying to calm him down. i was already so shaken myself, i couldn’t handle his urgent care. i told him to feel for blood, but neither of us found any. i rubbed the spot absently and wondered wtf..my head..and then, i began to cry. well, tears came out my eyes, but i spoke words, and even laughed. i felt so…shaken, absently rubbing the spot at the soft roots of my many dreadlocks. we said more words to each other that i don’t remember–not because of the event, but because i generally do not remember conversations in that way–i remember laughing deliriously at the absurdity of smacking the shit out of my head in that way, and then melodramatically contemplating sudden death. a few minutes later, however, i noticed the pain subsiding. substantially. i wondered why it didn’t hurt much, anymore? hadn’t i, just moments before, hit my head on the corner of something solid? i started wondering then, was the pain ever as intense as thought it should have been? just as i began to wonder, the minor pain remaining began to quickly dissipate. i told him what was happening, while wiping tears from my cheeks and temples with two hands. “i think i feel…fine?” this realization was more disconcerting than being cut and bloody because i’ve heard so many stories of people feeling fine after a head injury, only to drop dead a few hours later. i really would prefer not to do that. however, i’ve made it through the day, and i’m writing tonight, just in case.
but i’m so sleepy now…so…very…sleepy. i could taste it all day. the sleep. the last two nights have been restless. i’ve had a glass of smoking loon red wine the past couple of nights, and each time, i’ve had nightmares. tonight, i drank water. and called the 24/7 nurseline to make sure i’m not making some grave mistake by not going to the ER. i’m an unemployed, inadequately insured american who is not too keen on ANY more bills coming to her address. i’ve decided to take my chances. now if i can just remain lucid for the nightwatch and next 72 hours or so… but…if i should die, before i wake, i pray this world, my child to take, by storm and truth and black girl juice…
(here is where the record screeches) i hope there’s nothing really freudian or strange in this entry. it’s just documentation…
Nonfiction Woman 