I Cried

Friday at 2pm I was involved in a head on crash when my van hydroplaned into the other lane. I am very fortunate that I only sprained my neck, and left wrist, and I extended my healing time from the concussion. I'm still very achy and sore. The other driver was not injured. The biggest hit for me was emotional. I cried...a lot. People say you see your life flash before your eyes. I didn't see the past. All I could see was the future and all the problems this will cause and it overwhelmed me and swept me away like crashing wave followed by a strong undertow.

I cried as soon as I raised my face up from the airbag knowing things were bad but afraid of how bad they might be.

I cried as the steam rose out of the crushed in front of my car and the other car.

I cried when the other driver got out and began taking countless pictures of the whole scene.

I cried when I called 911.

I cried when I called Mr. Lime and the whole time he kept me talking.

I cried when the police arrived.

I cried because I wanted to stop crying and couldn't.

I cried knowing I am going to have to deal with an insurance company again and I have had so many arguments with them in the past 2 weeks.

I cried harder worrying how badly I may have hurt my head since head on collisions don't really fall under doctor's orders for concussion patients not to re-injure themselves within the first couple of weeks.

I cried worrying how badly I may have messed up my back, which took so long to get strong again.

I cried wondering if my migraines are going to become unstable again since it was a car accident 8 years ago that started them for me in the first place.

I cried worrying how I'd manage a new job for the first time in 19 years if I am offered one and my head, neck, and migraines conspire to make me not very functional.

I cried wondering how we will afford to either fix this car or get a new one because we don't have collision.

I cried because we have Calypso's birthday and Diana's graduation and I felt like I just ruined part of their joy.

I cried because my mother-in-law was arriving the next day and staying for a week to take part in the kids' milestones.

I cried because what do we do without a car to get everyone around.

I cried when I got into the ambulance and the other driver was there glowering at me all the way to the hospital.

I cried at the hospital sitting alone in a room with people walking around.

I cried and cried and cried when Mr. Lime and Diana got to the hospital.

I cried when the youth pastor arrived because Diana had sent a text message to him and all her friends.

I cried when the xray techs looked right through me the same way the xrays did as they pushed and pulled me into position.

I did laugh a little when Diana said my shuffling in the hospital hallway sounded like Graham Chapman in Yellowbeard when he does his stagger, stagger, crawl, roll bit as he follows his treasure map.

I cried when the doctor wouldn't tell me why he didn't seem worried about my head. I'm worried. Don't you understand? I can't even form the questions I need to ask. All I can say is I am worried.

I cried when they wanted me to take painkillers. I cried because I knew I wasn't supposed to take things that make your brain dull when you have a concussion and now they want me to take narcotics.

I cried on the way home.

I cried a flood when I found my mom there and I fell into her hug. I cried all over her and soaked her shoulder and sobbed big sobs while she just held me and let me cry.

I cried whenever anyone touched me not because it hurt but because it was like jostling a glass that is full to the very brim with the meniscus stretching in an arch over the height of the glass. One tiny vibration was all it took to send water streaming down the sides of the glass or tears down my cheeks.

I cried more when the kids asked why I was crying because I didn't cry like this when I had bones sticking out of me.

I cried because I didn't have any words. My rattled brain couldn't begin to find the ones I needed to explain. All I could do was cry.

I cried because Mom understood and explained it for me.

I cried when Mr. Lime asked me if I was going to call the insurance company or if he needed to. I said I needed him to.

I cried when my cousin Lisa called and told me she wished she were with me.

I cried when my best pal Gwen called and said the same.

I just cried.

And then I slept.

Ultimately I am very thankful I wasn't hurt any worse. My brain is back to being foggy again and I need naps. All the rest of the crap is going to have to wait its turn. We made it through Calypso's birthday dinner with her grandparents. Since I was not up to single handedly producing a full meal for 10 people Diana, my mom, my stepmom, and my mother-in-law all pitched in to learn how to make cake and the Trini food Calypso requested for her birthday so she could still have a special day. I answered the technical questions of how to do certain things none of them had ever done and got a few things started before turning them over. When you consider the history of divorces and contention that exists in my family and Mr. Lime's the coming together of all the mothers in cooperation out of love for Calypso and for me...well, it makes me cry...this time for good reasons.

You Shouldn't Have...Really

As a child I would visit my father who was the caretaker of his brother's scenic farm. I've already told you about the cemetery on the hill I enjoyed sitting in. There are other memories as well. My uncle rented the pastures to the dairy farmer whose property adjoined ours. My father raised chickens and pigs. My grandfather had an enormous vegetable patch. Even though I was only a weekly visitor to the farm I had chores there. It was my job to feed and water the pigs and chickens as well as gather the eggs. The pigs I was quite fond of. They were cute and friendly. I'd spend time talking to them and watching them. I was always a bit distressed when it came time to take them to the slaughter house.

The chickens were another matter entirely. As chicks they were adorable but they'd grow up quickly. Then they were dirty, smelly, and stupid. Every time I'd go in to feed and water them they'd peck at me like I was the food. I kind of figured any creature dumb enough to attack me when I was providing for its needs sort of deserved to end up on my plate. When it was time for my grandfather to fetch the hatchet I felt not the least bit of sadness for those birds. I didn't necessarily want to watch the carnage but I was not disturbed by the thought of it. My tears were reserved for the pigs. And yes, I believe I cried over a plate of bacon once.

Going back to the cemetery memories, you may recall me saying how as Halloween approached my visits grew less frequent because I was afraid of its inhabitants rising from the graves to snatch me away. Apparently, it was not the deceased humans I should have been worrying about. As evidenced by the award Cooper has bestowed upon me, the Zombie Chicken Award, it was the poultry I should have feared.

“The blogger who receives this award believes in the Tao of the zombie chicken - excellence, grace and persistence in all situations, even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. These amazing bloggers regularly produce content so remarkable that their readers would brave a raving pack of zombie chickens just to be able to read their inspiring words. As a recipient of this world-renowned award, you now have the task of passing it on to at least 5 other worthy bloggers. Do not risk the wrath of the zombie chickens by choosing unwisely or not choosing at all…”

First of all, I had no idea there was any threat from Zombie Chickens. I want to know at what level of threat the Homeland Security Department would classify this. How dire a situation is this? Is deep frying an effective counter-measure?

Secondly, I am not sure if I should be worried that the content of my blog might be considered of such quality that it would distract anyone from their patriotic duty to combat this plague. Well, I've been told I am just a wee smidge subversive but really, I am a bit worried that my drivel could contribute to an ineffective response to the zombie chicken plague. Seriously, I am in a panic about this! I don't know what to do! I am running around like.....uh, um, er...a chicken with its head cut off.

Nextly, I think the dangling eyeball in the picture is a really nice touch. I find the artistry is all in the details like this. It punctuates the ghastly green tone perfectly.

Now, lest I tempt the zombie chickens I've got to pass this thing on to at least 5 people.

Zombieslayer is a no brainer. Wait, that came out wrong. He has a brain...quite a good one in fact...which would be why I am giving him this award. I mean he is devoted to getting us through the zombie plague that is coming so it just seems natural he should get this....or unnatural, since zombies are kind of unnatural and he wants us to defeat them but this award is for distracting us from the plague. Well, I dunno, now I am all confused. He's getting it anyway.

Suldog gets it too because some of the stuff he has posted makes me think the zombie chickens already got him. Oh yeah, he mercilessly shreds any award bestowed upon him. This one though, I think there is a chance he might actually like it. I just want to see what he does. But really, if anyone could make us laugh through the attack of the zombie chickens it will be him.

Mona has already survived the vampiric zombie prairie dogs, if you recall my grand movie meme post, so I think she'll do just fine once the chickens attack.

Fadkog is a recent discovery of mine. She seems at least as warped as I am. Gees, I hope she knows that's a compliment. Really...it is, I swear...well, on the blog I don't swear too much because I don't want to offend. But when those zombie chickens attack all bets are off. If ever harsh language is called for I think a zombie plague is it. But I digress, Fadkog is someone I'd stomp a few undead chickens to read.

VE is the final recipient. I am sure he'd find a way to blog ABOUT the zombie chickens and make it entertaining. He'd come up with a poll or some bizarre picture or a Weekly World News type report on them. Bat Boy Joins Forces with Zombie Chickens or some such sounds like the type of headline he'd generate.

Ok, now that my civil duty of proliferating this insanity is complete my next big question is deciding if the zombie chickens go better with Tex-Mex barbecue sauce or Jamaican jerk rub.