More Belated Bus Blogging And A Heavy Accident

The following is part of the same journal entry as the one from my last post. This section immediately followed the bit about the foot fetishist. It struck me when I went back over my paper journal this evening that at times I can flow so quickly from one thing to another. Again, the mood was short-lived and is gone for the time being, but I thought I would include the passage anyway:

And then as quick as that, I am drowning again. How does that happen? I wrote about the foot fetishist shoe salesman, read some of Please Don’t Kill the Freshman by Zoe Trope, looked up to see a soul-widening crayon box of oranges and blues decorating the evening sky outside the bus window, and then, and then..... And then.

All the things I am not, piles of fine moist gravel, cave in around my shoulders. This is not whining. It is an explanation of facts, sort of. This happens to me over and over again, and it is as weighty, as force-filled, as that time a car hit me when I was a kid riding my bike. I feel fuzzy after the first thud, bewildered, like the lights are too bright and I should recede into a darker corner. When I used to bother to see psychiatrists and play guinea pig to their drug prescriptions, I asked two of them if this might be a form of epilepsy. A part of my brain seizes and the depressions are a side effect. They just looked at me as though I were the desperate one while they discounted my experiences and threw ill-advised bottles of pills at me. The pills made me drool, turned my urine green, gave me spontaneous and unemotional urges, and then the doctors accused me of not wanting to get better when I chose to avoid medication and asked to pursue other avenues.

What is this “better” they told me I was avoiding? I found that “better” can sometimes be no nausea, no green urine, no dry mouth, no grating headaches, no drug-imposed suicide pact with next week. Sometimes better is seeing good friends. Sometimes better is knowing there is another side to the dice. Sometimes better is knowing the love of the Fiery One and my ability to return it. If better is later and not always now, I can live with that.

It is not now in this bus with the too-loud girl at the bac k and the boy who won’t stop watching me. (I think he knows I stole his silhouette with my camera while he played Interpol too loudly on his disc player). Better is later. Oh Morrissey, you were so right: how soon is now? All I want is a fucking cigarette, and I feel like I’m too old to sneak one in the bus bathroom.

The air conditioning sings a little beneath the rush of air, and it reminds me of dentists’ drills.

Cosmopolis, you cannot arrive soon enough.

Are you surprised that I had been remiss with taking my meds for a week or two before the trip?


On to a lighter note about a very heavy accident that I had yesterday at work. And I mean heavy. I was filing some documents in a set of two two-tier filing cabinets that were stacked one on top of the other. These types of filing cabinets are not supposed to be stacked, but our office is low on both space and places to file things, so be it. Or so was it after the accident.

I had pulled out the lower drawer in the top cabinet, realized that I really wanted the top drawer, and pushed the lower drawer back in. I pulled the top drawer open just as the lower drawer sailed back out from the force of my push. This meant that both of the drawers in the top filing cabinet were open. I know that this description of the event makes it difficult to visualize, but bear with me.

Two major factors contributed to the as yet to be mentioned event: Firstly, with both drawers open, there was no weight in the cabinet to hold it steady; secondly, this cabinet was inadvisably stacked on top of another. These two factors married together created an awfully dangerous situation for me. The top filing cabinet fell forward onto my neck, shoulders, arms, torso, and legs. Its base was level with my waist, so I found myself trying to bear all the weight of this thing as it bore down upon me.

Apparently, this thing weighs around two hundred pounds, and I was managing to hold it up to keep it from completely crushing me. It took three of my female co-workers to hoist it enough for me to get out from under it, and another had to run in to work the thing back into a standing position. The four of them only managed this awkward task after half the files had already fallen to the floor.

I went into some kind of shock. I remember finding myself sitting on the receptionist’s chair, and then someone told me I was shaking, and then someone else made me go to the bathroom to check on the damage under my clothing. People, I’m not looking or feeling so good. I have a mildly twisted left ankle, my left thigh is a mess of horizontal cuts and welts and flowering purple bruises, I have scratches and bruises where my ribcage was holding up part of the cabinet while hanging files hung off my ribs, the bones in my hips and entire back seem to be positioning themselves independently of each other, and I have sore and aching muscles where I forgot I could have sore and aching muscles.

The filing cabinet looks atrocious, too. The rails that held up the files are twisted and bent, sticking out at odd angles from their original housing. I'm actually quite lucky that I didn't get one in the eye.

And then there’s the embarrassment of being the clumsy one in the office who just pulled the biggest clumsy event in the clumsy history of the organization. I spent today assuring people I was fine and enduring jokes like “are you sure you’re ready for the top drawer in that filing cabinet yet?” and people walking in a wide arc around me while saying “I’m just making sure I don’t get hurt”.

I’m going to go soak my sore self in a hot bath and visualize myself being really cool in really cool situations for a while.


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