Cleaning Pt. Deux
Today I was in a particularly good mood. I woke up, didn't feel like I was dying, and had the fortune of being the one to mow the fairways at work. Mowing the fairways is a favorite chore of mine. You're not allowed to listen to music, so you're left all alone with your thoughts. It's good alone time. Plus it takes up a good 3 or 4 hours of an 8 hour day. The people I work with don't suck, so that helps too. It feels strange to be the "top dog" this summer, although I would barely call myself nearly qualified to hold that title, it's just that I'm the only one returning from last summer (of the students, anyway). I feel all privileged and stuff. Plus I had Papa Murphy's chicago style pizza leftovers for lunch, and that just makes any day brighter.
My mom came over to help me clean again. She started attacking my closet. I got rid of so many articles of clothing, it was almost painful. I parted with some good articles that had seen many a day on my body (awkward). But it was time to let them go, regardless of their sentimental value. Some of them have been dead for years, I was just too stubborn to throw them out. (Ew.)
So my mom is going through my stuff in the closet, which is disgustingly messy, by the way, and she asks, "Did you buy something?" That was a very vague question, so I responded, "What?" I looked over at her and saw that she was holding a big receipt with Pure Romance written on top, which she had found in a bag that I kept all my...things in. I immediately snatched it away from her, blushing fervently; I was so embarrassed that I couldn't think of an excuse or a way to try to divert her attention. All I could do was mumble, "Don't lookitm'stff..." and tossed the bag under my nightstand, hoping she would get the hint and leave it be, or just be so weirded out that she wouldn't press the issue any further. Or maybe she hadn't even realized what it was she had just discovered.
I have an unusually large closet. When empty (which it hasn't been for a great while), I could house another person, or a family of midgets, comfortably. Somehow, I have accumulated enough shit over the last 22 years of my life that that closet was almost inaccessible. But thanks to Mom, perhaps I can find my way back to Narnia...
For my next traveling endeavor, I either want to go camping in Washington, or stay at the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas. Whichever happens first. That was random. I apologize.
I still have not heard from NYU. Boo.
Speaking of traveling, I want to go to my cottage. My mom showed me a bunch of inflatable rafts and floaty tubies and other water devices she just bought. Our neighbors have been campfire-ing for the last week straight (I wish I were exaggerating) and the smell of the smoke makes me wish I were up north. I ripped a bunch of my dad's 60's compilation CDs to my computer/iPod, and listening to Oldies makes me think of being out by the lake listening to music from my dad's old speaker system on the porch. Walking the puppies down to the boat launch, awkwardly trying to paddle my way around the lake in a spider-infested canoe, making pudgy pies, the best food creation known to man. Ahh, cottage. I cannot wait until I see your bright blue exterior once again.
This one time when I was about 7, I was out swimming in the lake with my older cousin and her friend. They were out in the "deep" part of the lake, which was where the water was just up to my chin, and my mom called for me to come back to shore. As I quickly ran-swam (swam-ran?) toward the shore, I felt a strange sensation on my foot. It felt as though I had just knicked something with my big toe, but I thought nothing of it. As I continued to the shore, I felt my toe twinge with pain. I sat in the shallow part of the water, took my foot in my hand and examined my big toe. About 2 seconds after holding it out of the water, right where the toe meets the foot, blood starting gushing out of a deep, wide cut. It wasn't so much the pain that made me scream out in horror, but the thought that I was quickly losing blood and I didn't know what to do about it. I must have stepped on an open clam. My dad told me to stop crying, that I was fine, but he obviously couldn't see the gorey horror film that was happening on my left foot. When I didn't cease my whining, he came out into the water, saw my foot, and picked me up "Creature from the Black Lagoon" style. He brought me inside, laid me down on the kitchen table and my entire family gathered around me, doing whatever they could do to help. After about 4 minutes and 10 blood-covered sheets of paper toweling later, I stopped crying and just lay there, with my cousins and sister standing at my head, my parents, aunts and uncles at my feet. My dad finally announced, "We're going to need to take you to the hospital." At this point, i was so lethargic I didn't care what we did.
I wasn't allowed to sleep on the car ride to the hospital. This worried me. Was I going to drift off and die if I closed my eyes to rest? Hell no, I wasn't going to sleep, as much as I wanted to. It took what seemed like an eternity to get there. While we waited in the waiting room (mind you, I was STILL in just a swimsuit and had only a wet towel to cover my feeble little 7 year old body), my dad started playing with my bad toe. I was still very somber and quiet, and I was still lying in his arms as if he had never put me down from the Black Lagoon scene we re-enacted. Suddenly he goes, "Hey Mol, look." He was holding my big toe in his fingers and moving it back and forth, revealing just how deep the gash was. It looked like a puppet. A nasty, bloody, sick and twisted toe puppet. We both laughed, I think out of pity and lack of better things to do.
Positives from this whole experience:
1) I got a hospital wrist band with a puppy on it.2) Stitches are a pretty awesome battle wound to brag about to your other 7 year old friends.
3) When we got back to the cottage, my sister and cousins had found a turtle nearby. They named it after me.
Negatives;
1) The shot they gave me in my wound hurt like a bitch.
2) I cut my fucking foot open on a clam.
3) It kinda sucked to walk for like 2 weeks.
4) A week later, after I got the stitches out, my friend and I wanted to play in her mini pool. I wasn't supposed to get my left foot wet so I only played in the pool with my right side. Somehow my wound still re-opened.
I hope you enjoyed this story. I enjoyed telling it.
Good night, y'all. I gotta go to bed early. Work at 6.
Peace, and love.
Molly
My mom came over to help me clean again. She started attacking my closet. I got rid of so many articles of clothing, it was almost painful. I parted with some good articles that had seen many a day on my body (awkward). But it was time to let them go, regardless of their sentimental value. Some of them have been dead for years, I was just too stubborn to throw them out. (Ew.)
So my mom is going through my stuff in the closet, which is disgustingly messy, by the way, and she asks, "Did you buy something?" That was a very vague question, so I responded, "What?" I looked over at her and saw that she was holding a big receipt with Pure Romance written on top, which she had found in a bag that I kept all my...things in. I immediately snatched it away from her, blushing fervently; I was so embarrassed that I couldn't think of an excuse or a way to try to divert her attention. All I could do was mumble, "Don't lookitm'stff..." and tossed the bag under my nightstand, hoping she would get the hint and leave it be, or just be so weirded out that she wouldn't press the issue any further. Or maybe she hadn't even realized what it was she had just discovered.
I have an unusually large closet. When empty (which it hasn't been for a great while), I could house another person, or a family of midgets, comfortably. Somehow, I have accumulated enough shit over the last 22 years of my life that that closet was almost inaccessible. But thanks to Mom, perhaps I can find my way back to Narnia...
For my next traveling endeavor, I either want to go camping in Washington, or stay at the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas. Whichever happens first. That was random. I apologize.
I still have not heard from NYU. Boo.
Speaking of traveling, I want to go to my cottage. My mom showed me a bunch of inflatable rafts and floaty tubies and other water devices she just bought. Our neighbors have been campfire-ing for the last week straight (I wish I were exaggerating) and the smell of the smoke makes me wish I were up north. I ripped a bunch of my dad's 60's compilation CDs to my computer/iPod, and listening to Oldies makes me think of being out by the lake listening to music from my dad's old speaker system on the porch. Walking the puppies down to the boat launch, awkwardly trying to paddle my way around the lake in a spider-infested canoe, making pudgy pies, the best food creation known to man. Ahh, cottage. I cannot wait until I see your bright blue exterior once again.
This one time when I was about 7, I was out swimming in the lake with my older cousin and her friend. They were out in the "deep" part of the lake, which was where the water was just up to my chin, and my mom called for me to come back to shore. As I quickly ran-swam (swam-ran?) toward the shore, I felt a strange sensation on my foot. It felt as though I had just knicked something with my big toe, but I thought nothing of it. As I continued to the shore, I felt my toe twinge with pain. I sat in the shallow part of the water, took my foot in my hand and examined my big toe. About 2 seconds after holding it out of the water, right where the toe meets the foot, blood starting gushing out of a deep, wide cut. It wasn't so much the pain that made me scream out in horror, but the thought that I was quickly losing blood and I didn't know what to do about it. I must have stepped on an open clam. My dad told me to stop crying, that I was fine, but he obviously couldn't see the gorey horror film that was happening on my left foot. When I didn't cease my whining, he came out into the water, saw my foot, and picked me up "Creature from the Black Lagoon" style. He brought me inside, laid me down on the kitchen table and my entire family gathered around me, doing whatever they could do to help. After about 4 minutes and 10 blood-covered sheets of paper toweling later, I stopped crying and just lay there, with my cousins and sister standing at my head, my parents, aunts and uncles at my feet. My dad finally announced, "We're going to need to take you to the hospital." At this point, i was so lethargic I didn't care what we did.
I wasn't allowed to sleep on the car ride to the hospital. This worried me. Was I going to drift off and die if I closed my eyes to rest? Hell no, I wasn't going to sleep, as much as I wanted to. It took what seemed like an eternity to get there. While we waited in the waiting room (mind you, I was STILL in just a swimsuit and had only a wet towel to cover my feeble little 7 year old body), my dad started playing with my bad toe. I was still very somber and quiet, and I was still lying in his arms as if he had never put me down from the Black Lagoon scene we re-enacted. Suddenly he goes, "Hey Mol, look." He was holding my big toe in his fingers and moving it back and forth, revealing just how deep the gash was. It looked like a puppet. A nasty, bloody, sick and twisted toe puppet. We both laughed, I think out of pity and lack of better things to do.
Positives from this whole experience:
1) I got a hospital wrist band with a puppy on it.2) Stitches are a pretty awesome battle wound to brag about to your other 7 year old friends.
3) When we got back to the cottage, my sister and cousins had found a turtle nearby. They named it after me.
Negatives;
1) The shot they gave me in my wound hurt like a bitch.
2) I cut my fucking foot open on a clam.
3) It kinda sucked to walk for like 2 weeks.
4) A week later, after I got the stitches out, my friend and I wanted to play in her mini pool. I wasn't supposed to get my left foot wet so I only played in the pool with my right side. Somehow my wound still re-opened.
I hope you enjoyed this story. I enjoyed telling it.
Good night, y'all. I gotta go to bed early. Work at 6.
Peace, and love.
Molly
Me 'n Puppy at my cottage when I was not 7 years old. Little did I know that a few years later at that very same location, I would be hospitalized for severe foot trauma...
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