I was standing in the bathroom and I was white. White like a beautiful geisha. White like a delicate eggshell. I looked marvelous. ( I was crazy at the time.)
Then I heard buzzing. If a 1000 bee hives were heading straight towards me I should have been scared. Me? I couldn’t have been more calm and relaxed. Because they weren’t bees. They were people. There was a party. I was having a party. Which should have at least worried me. I am never calm and relaxed, especially about parties. The room got really bright and the yellow paint on the walls was so lovely, as if i could sink into like it was a big giant Peep. Remember the little marshmallow easter chicks? That was my whole bathroom! Unfortunately my bathroom is green, not yellow. The linoleum floor looked soft and warm. Then my whole body took a big SPIN, as if it were a waltz and there I was. I thought “How lovely. How did I get down here? I’ll just lie down for a minute and I’ll feel better.” And ya know, for a minute I did feel pretty good, just staring at the dust underneath the bathroom sink, it was wonderful. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that lying on the floor was a BAD thing. It was when I couldn’t get up that I began to really ask myself “Is this floor clean?”.
I looked down and said “oh fuck”. Because there was blood everywhere. I had to clean that mess up pronto. (Is anyone picking up how incredibly weird this?) My sister, Liza, is not good with blood. So I pulled myself mostly upright with the help of a towel hanging off the rack, and I tried to arrange my clothes, which were all around my ankles, and I started unrolling toilet paper and picking up the clots and wiping the blood up. I even dipped the tp in the toilet to wipe up the smears. I thought I did a pretty good job. (I was told later I missed some.)
I should have planned it better. Rule #1: Don’t waste time. That cleaning up activity wore me right out. You could stick a fork in me, I was done. I still couldn’t stand up, which was beginning to scare me, and now I could’nt sit up either. I could hear Liza outside. So I would yell, right? This is when I began to be horrified. I couldn’t yell. I could sort of loudly whisper. Damn. She couldn’t hear me. She was out at the henhouse or with the dogs. Then I realized Hey, my faithful dog, Haida. He was lying nose to nose with me and he looked really sad and worried. I didn’t even know he was there. poor lil guy. If a dog could cry, he would be crying. So I said “Timmy’s in the well, Lassie. Go get help! Go get Liza. Go!” And damned if he didn’t run to the sliding glass door and scratch and bark. He’d run to me and back to the window, but me? I honestly began to lose interest. Who gives a flying fuck? Too bad the floor is getting cold but really…who cares?
You know who cares…HAIDA!
I think I started singing because that’s what they taught me when I worked at Yellowstone Nat’l Park. When you were lost, you sang. The big bad bears would stay away – I found Bette Midler’s ‘The Rose’ to be easy to sing over and over-and the searchers would hear you and find you. They did, too. I got saved and yelled at by a handsome park ranger who asked me out the next night. He took me hiking early one morning and showed me the upside down world through a raindrop. He also saved me from falling into a boiling hot pot and from going over Yellowstone Falls in an inner tube. Where is he today, people? My hero.
But this is all by the way. She eventually came in to pour water for tea and found me on the floor. Called the ambulance- after checking with Mom- and has been mildly or majorly grossed out by me ever since.