TheBanyanTree: Most Accidents Happen In The Home

[Monique Colver]

http://open.salon.com/blog/moniquec/2009/11/02/most_accidents_happen_in_the_home


There's no draft to this post. It is what it is. My laptop has died in a
horrible household accident, and the Word on my desktop is flaky at best and
totally unreliable at worst, and my work schedule has prevented me from
having the appropriate guru log in to fix it. OpenOffice works fine, but I
can't copy and paste from it to here, for some reason known only to some guy
on a hilltop in Tibet, and I'm certainly not going to type it there just to
type it here again. I suppose there's WordPad, but then the formatting's
gone anyway.

Please don't send me suggestions on what I should do. I'm managing just
fine, really. Except for writing, which I was going to start today in
celebration of national write a novel month, which I'm not participating in
because my novel writing abilities are currently in doubt. No, I was going
to start on something much better.

Let's get back to the point however.

I jumped out of a plane yesterday.  I know, I said that last week. But I did
it again! The open sky called to me all week, so I begged charming husband
for the cash and he gave it to me, on the condition that I not go splat on
the ground. Since I have no desire to go splat on the ground or anywhere
else I told him I could live with that condition. There's a joke in there
somewhere.

There weren't as many people around this time, but the plane was full. We
were packed in like sardines, which seems to be the typical phrase for such
situations. My jumpmaster this time was an  older gentleman who even gave me
gloves and took extra precautions to secure my glasses. The goggles were
tightened to within an an eighth of an inch of my life, just to preclude any
issues during freefall. I'm sure the pictures would have been much better
this time, but having pictures done again just seemed redundant.  My
jumpmaster gave me much information, and pointed out all the scenery on the
way up, and then again on the way down. It was a beautiful fall day again,
and since we're in Oregon, everything's green. Green and blue and white
mountains in the distance on all sides, and other canopies swooping around.

Have you noticed my banner? When I named it, it was metaphorical. I never
had any intention of finding out about freefall. When a generous member of
OS made my banner he put a skydiver in it to go along with the name. I still
had no intention of skydiving.

The other day I looked at it and I thought, "Wow, it's like it came true!"

Whatever. So far in freefall I'm still pretty useless. Oh sure, I can fall
just fine, but I'm still attached to another full grown person which makes
it particularly difficult to do my own thing, and I'm thinking I'd really
like to try it on my own. Under the canopy I can take my turn steering, and
swooping left and right, but when it comes time for something serious to be
done, like, oh, I don't know -- opening the canopy or landing, I'm just
along for the ride. I think I'd like to tackle those little tasks myself
next year. I did manage to land on my feet this time, though my legs, with
their perennial cries of "no! you have fibromyalgia, remember?" wanted to
just give way beneath me. But who's in charge here, anyway?

Afterwards I couldn't see, thanks to my eyes, which like to serve the same
functions as a faucet when irritated by the wind, so I took off my jumpsuit
with my eyes closed. I must be quite entertaining.  My jumpmaster then took
me in a training room and showed me what to practice. When the wind hits and
you find yourself going at 120 miles there's not a lot of time for
thinking.

Don't get me wrong. It's not a perfect experience. I'm still working on a
couple of comfort issues, but I still feel drawn to it.

Afterwards I drove myself home. This skydiving thing has become so routine
around here charming husband stays home to do his laundry while I'm gone. We
went out for lunch, and he wanted all the details. In the evening he packed
up, like he does every Sunday, and he left for Seattle for the week again.

I languished (in obscurity or lassitude, one or the other) on the couch. I
was exhausted, which seemed rather odd. I mean, falling out of the sky is
not that physically wearing, at least not the way I do it, and it doesn't
last that long, so I had no idea what I was so tired for. Eventually I
dragged myself into the kitchen and heated up some won ton soup we'd brought
home the day before. I forgot about it, so when I finally did remember to go
back to it there was some fantastic boiling going on.

I put the soup in a bowl. I dragged myself and said bowl back to the couch,
and I sat down and put my feet up, with the intention of letting said bowl
rest on me while it cooled off.

I know this isn't the smartest thing I've ever done.

Naturally, the boiling hot soup and I had an altercation, with me ending up
with a goodly portion of said soup on my upper chest.

Are you laughing?

It's okay. Some people have that reaction.

There was screaming, and lots of quick movements, some more screaming, and
somehow my laptop, which was sitting a couple of feet away, managed to get a
good dose of soup too. At that point I didn't care, since I was certain my
skin was coming off.

I called the nurse hotline. I cursed A LOT. Screamed. Said ow a lot. Held a
wet compress to my tortured skin for the next couple of hours. Debated with
myself the merits of having a full time keeper. Watched it blister. Took
some ibuprofen. Later took a vicodin.

By the time I went to bed with my dogs, who had been very patient and spent
most of the screaming time outside, it had calmed down considerably, and I
was ecstatically happy just to be free of the burning pain. It's going to
leave a mark. Oh yeah. My upper chest is bright red and painful and
blistered, and I have to make sure it doesn't get infected.

I ate the won tons out of the soup once it was cold. They were good.

I've survived to jump another day.
-- 
Monique Colver