September 4th, 2005
(morphine induced — 12/9 edit)
Where to start…
Car accident – mercy medical in Redding. 90 yr old moaning roommate… ex-boyfriend angel very helpful…
case of the fat face. My favorite line: I can’t wait to gander at you with my good right eye
other favorite line: you girls are just like my popareniums at home [elderly patient to nurses]
2 south at your service. I have the loveliest nurses in the morning. Lisa from overnight from South Africa and Dina probably local, maybe sac-town to be a little more urban
oh right date is: sept. 4th day before adrien’s wedding in southern italy I should be traveling today within italy to get there. But I’m laid up in a hospital bed in redding.
En route from Ashland, OR to Burning Man, Nevada… I was abducted by aliens who rolled over my dad’s jeep, poked my eyes out and left me for dead.
Well, I’m here to live and tell the story…
Which I’ll get back to this is not a scifi horror I was just dreaming before I was prodded with vital info and fed more meds (not complaining there) pain levels learning and to add 1 number because I tend to down p;lay pain which isn’t getting me anywhere if there is nothing to make it feel better. My neck is fractured. (excuse me my 1 eye is gooping up.) fractured in a few places wearing a lovely brace. I have a wrap around my L wrist for the wound from my bracelet and from a sprain. I just remembered my out fit from the accident was so cute, loved it! So bummed it was probably ripped like chris said. I can’t imagine them taking the time out to look (appreciate) at my ensemble when my head was covered in blood; — although would’ve matched my chocolate brown skirt.
Anyway while I’m blabbing about my own travesties and fashion mishaps a whole city is covered in water due to broken levies! – Just had to take a moment and I can’t help but think about all the graves and maybe I’ve read too many vampires novels but isn’t the soil a preservative? Which is why so much blood sucking lit has been set there?
I have this image of all these bodies starting from the 17th century until now floating throughout the waters.
Katrina woke the undead of new Orleans. I’m waiting for this story to break.
I’ve got a major case of sinusitis.
Questions for my doctors: how is my neck? Rehab? Eyes? Rehab?
Questions for self:
Stay at home?
What to do?
5 min apart
(pain pills every 4 hours)
mac & cheese
[little pieces of straw from the rollover are stored in between the fold of these 2 pages]
— next page —
5:15am or so in the am. Waiting to go to surgery @ gerneral my spine is cracking my eye is aching, but I’m okay dreams about swing burning man grady and monkey chant, but nothing about my eye. I talked with tyler so sweet. It made me nervous. My fortune: nobody can give you better advice than yourself. I’ll be put under incision in mouth to fix shattered cheek bone placing titanium to symmetrically balance to my other (intact cheek bone)
I trust my doctors.
I trust my doctors.
I trust my doctors.
I hope my parents will get some rest and not get too stressed out. I wish my sister was here.
Friday night after the knife – 5:30 or 6am at general – weird man next to me who was peaking as I got dressed – butt camera that’s what he was getting:
Nervous, nervous, nervous
They weren’t going to go through my mouth for the anesthesia because of my neck fractures – so they gave me nasal decongestant which absolutely burned my throat. They decided it would be okay to go through mouth.
— next page —
Dr. Kezarian, Mau last minute questions
about not fixing the
floor of the eye socket issues – sinking eye
possibility for regeneration needs firm eye socket __________________________________________
carefully placing the last pieces of a zygomatic puzzle
Alien abduction, big foote,
— next page —
in the blackness of my my left eye i see kalaidoscope of passions and desperation and love the passion to keep living
but a slower life
vida del sabor
a spirited life, don't stop me
i want to drink the beauty of my soul and the beautiful people around me
— next page —
things to ask my
–medication – discontinue redding meds
my mom and i got along really well today
— next page —
this is darker deeper
and more challenging to get out of
i am lost — and sad
of my loss.
i am in a tunnel–
i am neither here nor there in the living or the dead i guess i'm in the living – i am mopey
meds wearing off every 4 hours
but i still take it
— next page —
it's sunday night
actually monday morning 12:30 or so and I'm
freaking out a bit
almost hallucinating the movie in my left
eye is wild it keeps
going & going
closed & open
maybe i do have
— next page —
some brain damage
the surgery kicked my ass — 31 and
i want to calm down
i took some of my
elixir as i call it
my face does hurt but
i do take it to calm
I am supposed to
be in italy right now
— next page —
visiting adrien & luca
i miss them —
my head is swarming
with thoughts about my
life about my accideent
i don't wan't to blame
myself but i am
i have to move
really slow heal
k never came
j called i haven't
called her back it
— next page —
hurt so much for her
to call now — after
her wedding — i feel like
such the reject.
i want to get
out of my tragic life
& make the most of this
i am not invincible
life is so fragile
i want to love and be loved
back. it is a dream
my numb face tickles
next to my left nostril
— next page —
i want to feel again
in my face
i have faith
i want to see again
with a bionic eye.
in either case i'm trying
to adjust back into
life – home – etc.
I want to be a superheroe+, I want a bionic eye. I want it to zoom in on people w/o them knowing. I want it to take digital photos of those moments that I want to remember. I don’t want to be disabled, I don’t want to be monocular. I don’t want bump into things, I don’t want handicap placards. I don’t want to feel like a loser, like I need to be coddled, or pity. R felt bad that I wasn’t getting any affection. He is so weird. But I like him for kicking my ass…. for being my twisted Sinatra in his own way:
Sammy Davis, Jr. — Lost his left eye in an car wreck in 1954.
Depressed from the loss, he thought his career was over until his friend Frank Sinatra told him that that he was at a crossroads, that he could either fade away or overcome the loss and go on to greatness. Weeks later, at Sammy's first public appearance since the crash, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and others made a surprise appearance on stage — all wearing eyepatches. After that, Sammy went on to be one of the
great entertainers of all time, and a member of the famous 'Rat
I haven’t written my story of survival of a near fatal accident. No. I have been making a home in the attic in my parents house. It is large and cavernous. I listen to my ipod, I take walks in the Arboreteum. I’m reading “the Alchemist” with a bunch of shit about following your Personal Legend. Which I halfway believe and is why I am writing. Because I have a mythology of myself that is a writer. I can see myself in the future in my mind’s eye, there is no blindness there, as an older woman w/ long white hair, balanced and at peace and containing wisdom of the ages. I am gazing, it is sunny, someplace like Santa Fe in a residency of some sort.
Quote 23: "The world of blindness was a refuge; better to be there than to see with strange shamed eyes the old world that had been so bright." Part 5, Chapter 2, pg. 382
Here are books I want:
“The Story of the Eye,” by Bataille, don’t trust the title I think it’s about porn.
"The Blind Man" (1922) by D.H.Lawrence
"Cathedral" (1983) by Raymond Carver
Molly Sweeney (1996), a play by Brian Friel.
Twilight : Losing Sight, Gaining Insight (Hardcover)
by Henry Grunwald
More feelings of inadequacy
I just don’t know what is real anymore
My sister comes home because she is sick w/ her chronic fatigue syndrome, she had wiped out her adrenal gland again and worried the hell out of us.
Atavistic: relating to or characterized by reversion to something ancient or ancestral
(we are 2 invalids in the attic — it's a really bad lifetime movie)
orchids, fragility, living at home, my version no sex in the city
my mother threw out all my sympathy flowers from my accident
that night I dreamt I grew a flower out of my eye
what do I say about the depressing fact that I have lost vision in my left eye. What can I say, the last thing I remember is going off the road a little the next thing I remember is being told that I’m going in a helicopter.
benches dedicated to the deceased. Walking through the park consumed with my present, elongated vortex that I wander around in, and notice that I’m walking next to or on the previous paths of those who walked before me.
I have never wanted a boyfriend more than now. (now that’s embarrassing – I must have gotten brain damage. 11/29 edit)
I am eager to write this down, whatever it is.
I am hoping I will really convince myself to go on the walk-about I need to really figure this shit out. to decide where I’m going, to acknowledge the crossroads that I am in.
Why do my words sound so weak compared to the raging energy flowing through me.
Giving myself the time to meditate, ruminate on the hard, mental and physical details of losing sight.
I miss R.
Acuity: sharpness or keenness of thought, vision, or hearing
When things like this happen you think about places you’ve never been. The grand canyon.
I think about thanking the man that saved my life. I’m scared to talk with him. Im scared to know more details, but I’m desperate for them.
Usa by rail
Desperately seeking the sweetness of life
Feeling life right through my pores
ad hoc: form, arranged, or done for a particular purpose only
writing is where I’m going, it is forging a path, its alchemy will propel me into lands, not yet imagined
I am so not myself now, may have something to do with the raging premenstrual hormones racing through my body, could have something to do with the crappy rainy weather.
(couldn’t have anything to do with being one-eyed, not getting the visual stimulation in right hemisphere.)
My sister came over and gave me a hug – and I showed her how I’m feeling, pointed to some lines from the book I’m reading, “Sputnik Sweetheart” by Murakami…
“… I have this strange feeling that I’m not myself anymore. It’s hard to put it into words, but I guess it’s like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling…
My eyes tell me I’m the same old me [here’s where the difference is – my eye tells me I’m not the same old me, almost though, almost.] but something’s different from usual. Not that I can clearly recall what “usual” was. Ever since I stepped off the plane I can’t shake this very real, deconstructive illusion. Illusion? I guess that’s the word….
Sitting here, asking myself, “Why am I in Rome, of all places?” everything around me starts to look unreal. Of course if I trace the details of how I got here I can come up with an explanation, but on a gut level I’m still not convinced. The me sitting here and the image of me I have are out of sync. To put it another way, I don’t particularly need to be here, but nonetheless here I am. I know I’m being vague…”
in 3 days I will be on my way – on my journey of confusion. I had dinner 2 nights ago w/ my parents and there friends and they wanted to know how I was doing and what I was going to do for work. I started rambling and the more I rambled the more random my thoughts seemed to be, I don’t know what I want. I want to be happy. I want to feel on fire. I want to regain my sense of self. Sense of self, I am senseless, not completely
let’s see 5 senses. Now 4 and a half senses. How can my sixth sense compensate for the ruptured half?
I am the worst procrastinator – I can’t believe it. I am scared out of my mind to try and finally graduate. It’s ridiculous, I have the paper. I mean it kinda sucks. I’m afraid, I’ll flunk out. and never graduate. I guess it’s something to accomplish. I’m always getting a head of myself. I have no patience. One step at a time. You’d think losing peripheral vision could help me focus. Maybe it is – it’s just the distraction inside my head that prevents me from getting anything done. I’m so incredibly critical of myself.
Hibernating, isolating, is a way for me to feel calm and to sit with myself and come to place of peace and acceptance.
Viticulture: the study of growing grapes
Enology: the science of wine making
(more and more things that i want to do. 12/22 edit)
Just finished the novel I was reading. I’m sitting in my sleep car, stalled in the moffet tunnel on the zephyr.
I think I will leave it for a passenger who could use some words to comfort them.
From Haruki Murakami’s “Sputnik Sweetheart”
"I stopped and turned to look behind me. The slope twisted palely down toward the town like the tracks of some gigantic insect. I looked up at the sky then, under the moonlight, and glanced at my palm. With a rush of understanding I knew this wasn’t my hand anymore. I can’t explain it. But at a glance I knew this wasn’t my hand anymore. I can’t explain it. But at a glance I knew. My hand was no longer my hand, my legs no longer my legs.
Bathed in the pallid moonlight, my body, like some plaster puppet, had lost all living warmth. As if a voodoo magician had put a spell on me, blowing my transient life into this lump of clay. The spark of life had vanished. My real life had fallen asleep somewhere, and a faceless someone was stuffing it in a suitcase, about to leave.
An awful chill swept through me and I felt choked. Someone had rearranged my cells, untied the threads that held my mind together. I couldn’t think straight. All I was able to do was retreat as fast as I could to my usual place of refuge. I took a huge breath, sinking in the sea of consciousness to the very bottom. Pushing aside the heavy water I plunged down quickly and grabbed a huge rock there with both arms. The water crushed my eardrums. I squeezed my eyes tightly closed, held my breath, resisting. Once I made up my mind, it wasn’t that difficult. I grew used to it all – the water pressure, the lack of air, the freezing darkness, the signals the chaos emitted. It was something I’d mastered again and again as a child.
Time reversed itself, looped back, collapsed, reordered itself. The worlds stretched out endlessly – and yet was defined and limited. Sharp images – just the images alone—passed down dark corridors, like jellyfish, like souls adrift. But I steeled myself not to look at them. If I acknowledged them, even a little they would envelop themselves in meaning. Meaning was fixed to the temporal, and the temporal was trying to force me to rise to the surface. I shut my mind tight to it all, waiting for the procession to pass."
These are another's words in the place of mine.
Herein lies the problem. There’s the rub. I have no idea which words to use to explain who I am now and what has happened to me. Like baking a rich pie for the right occasion and not knowing which fruit to use and what the occasion is and who will be eating the pie.
Perhaps I need to eat it all by myself. All this pie talk is making me hungry.
Yes, there was an accident. Yes, I lost my vision. Yes, I like morphine. Yes, I’m a different person. But stronger? More passionate?
In an effort to bring my words out I’m going to free write: leaving the moffett tunnel, vision quest, false starts, spending money, loving the attention from the sweet Chicagoan train attendants. Trying to be done with r, but still miss him.
But mostly this is a “journey” for me and for me only to honor the change and bring forth a new awakening. I am calling it.