the only thing worse
than bad memories
is no memories at all..
[dismemberment plan]
4.21.2008
Weird Dreams, Black Holes.
I've been plagued recently by some really bizarre, vivid dreams. Anyone want to take a stab at "what it means"?
Last night, I had this awful nightmare that my dad and I were in my mom's SUV. He was driving me to someplace I can't recall, through some sort of summer camp. It was at this weird beach-like colony where young white people were running around on the sand in colorful swimsuits. I've seen this weird setting before in my dreams, many times. There's always a lot of dirty seaweed strewn about, the sky is a dead green, the sand gritty. The water is mucky, and a bubbly film floats on top of the crashing waves.
There was a small, black, petroleum-y lake under a hill. I, for some reason, asked my dad to drive closer and closer along the lip of this lake. I'm not sure why. It wasn't to show off to anyone (no one stood out to me in the crowds as anyone I knew), maybe it was just to see how far I could push him. Without putting up a fight (which is not like his character), he acquiesced and drove closer and closer to this black, disgusting, swampy lake.
The inevitable happened, and we got stuck. I hopped out and tried to push the car out of the black muck, but the car was stuck, and started sinking quickly. I yelled for help and screamed at my dad to get out of the car, but it was sinking too quickly, and no one came to help us. I ran to see if I could get someone, anyone, to save my dad, who was trapped, submerged under the thick, black mud.
I ran and came across some friends of mine. I'm not sure who they were, but I think we all went out somewhere, talking, catching up, laughing. I wondered to myself when I would have to break the news to my family that my father had succumbed to the dark mysterious mud, and that my strange request to drive the car close to this black lake had rendered my mother husbandless, and my brother and I fatherless.
I'm not sure how much time went by, but at some point the laughter became sincere and carefree, until a jarring sudden moment when I remembered with urgency that my dad was trapped inside of a car, at the bottom of a black lake. I chanced upon some kind of towing garage, where I summoned the help of a white man with a sunburned red face, a beer gut and a crew cut, to tear ass in his tow truck to this lake to save my father.
A diver in scuba gear dove into the muck with a hook, and emerged, announcing that he had successfully rigged the hook to the back of the car. I tried in vain to calculate how much time had gone by, and how much oxygen there was in the car for my dad to possibly survive on. It seemed like a lost cause. I wondered to myself if my dad had struggled, trying to open the door or crack a window to free himself, which probably would have only allowed the mud to enter the car, fill his nose, mouth, ears, and muffled his shouts and paralyzed his flailing limbs. It was not an image I enjoyed. Despite my dad's usual hardness, his cheapness, his usually ill-tempered mood, I considered him to be a good man, and I loved him. A crank started turning, a rope attached to the hook tightened, and the back of the car in which my dad was prisoner became visible.
That's when I woke up.
* * * * *
My personal thoughts on this dream is that it is no coincidence that last night, before I had this dream, my father and I finally had an uncomfortable discussion about me moving out, as my mother played "passive referee" (playing sudoku next to me as she occasionally shouted criticisms at both of us without looking up from her book). For the last two years in which I've tried unsuccessfully to move out on my own, my dad has gone into hysterics every time I brought up the topic. He wails, saying that he is going to faint, and how could I be such a horrible daughter with skewed thinking to even consider moving out. He still thinks I should live at home until I am married to a Korean man, an idea which admittedly shocks and horrifies me. Therefore, my dad has understandably been pretty much left in the dark of my moving plans in the past few months. My mom usually chimes in, too, saying that everyone in New York is a drug addict and an alcoholic, and dirty, which is not very helpful to my cause -- but lately, as the more progressive parent, she begrudgingly agreed to me in secret that it seems like it's time that I move out.
After first attempting to use threats, anger, and frustration with little success, my dad moved onto the most powerful strategy a charmingly petite and typically angry Asian parent can ever summon: guilt.
"But... I like it when you are here at home."
This was either a rare glimpse at my dad's soft side, or a crafty, desperate, last-resort attempt to appeal to my "good daughter" side. But I put my foot down. The conversation ended awkwardly, like a joke that trails off without a punchline, and I went up to my room. There, I received a call on my cell phone from my dad, who was downstairs in the living room, where I imagine he was shaken and recovering from the ordeal.
"Yaejina, even if it costs more money, I think you should find a place that you like," he said to me in Korean, his voice uncharacteristically gentle and giving.
My stomach ached with a feeling I can only describe as tender guilt. I can count the instances that my typically cheap-ass dad suggested using MORE money rather than less on one hand. Make that half a hand. Some kind of a mutilated hand that is mostly stump, and three little stalky growths popping out from a single knuckle. I said "okay" softly and hung up as the stomachache grew.
I don't want to feel like I'm abandoning my dad like a "bad daughter." I also don't think that leaving home at age 23, when I am gainfully employed, should count as "abandonment" -- though I can plainly see that my dad considers my moving out as such. I guess that the distance that has slowly grown between us over the past decade and a half could feel like an abandonment, with both of us being left feeling like the abandoner as well as the abandonee. But I want him to know that I would never leave him at the bottom of a black hole, alone, so that I could yukk it up with some friends -- despite my inexplicable actions in this weird dream I had last night -- and that I would dive straight into the murky black quicksand myself, tear the door off with my bare hands to free him, take his hand, and search for the surface with him again, without ever looking back.
I've been wondering why my legs are so sore lately... I just realized today that it's probably because from Monday through Wednesday, I was mostly bed-ridden in the hospital, and Wednesday through Sunday, I've been pretty much on self-prescribed house arrest (not so much out of fear but out of laziness and comfort I guess). After so much disuse, I think my muscles atrophied a little, and I'm not used to so much movement! ("So much movement" = "walking from the kitchen to the can.")
My ass injury surprisingly still doesn't really hurt so much, except when I'm sitting in one position for an extended period of time, or if I'm getting up out of a chair. Getting out of chairs really is a killer. I feel something in my coccyx (hehe, coccyx) pop, then I feel the laceration pop open, and then for the next 20 minutes I get to enjoy the soothing feeling of fluids leaking out of the puncture wound in my ass, slicking up my butt crack and soaking a nice crusty line all up in my undies... cool. If you were eating as you read that last sentence -- you're welcome.
I've come up with a few creative ways to get out of chairs besides the typical "normal" way to do it, which is to plan your feet on the ground and hoist your body up with your legs, optionally using your arms to push up. The leg plant/hoist is really what makes it feel like Wolverine is about to slash his way out of my ass crack, so it's upper body all the way...
1. Slowly cross one leg over the other, and start spinning 180 degrees, and plant my face into the back of the chair, holding my body up with my arms. Bite my lip to make the pulsating pain less distracting. Plant feet on ground, push my body up with my arms, remove face from back of chair.
2. Slowly slouch lower and lower in my seat. Once the small of my back is reaching the end of the seat, bend my knees as much possible, and gradually sink to my knees, with my arms holding me up. Gradually crawl to the nearest bed or soft spot on the floor. Take a nap.
1. Get a job at a small law firm or similar place of employment likely to have decorative coffee tables.
2. Engage in conversation with boss in his office while perching self on edge of low glass coffee table. Make this a habit.
3. Build up false sense of security while doing so.
4. On the day you'd like to Bust Your Ass (TM), wear some kind of long flowy dress that is likely to catch debris in its folds. THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT! Men, make do with loose linen pants.
5. During a lull in the conversation with boss while perched on edge of low glass coffee table, relax and lean back, making sure to place all of your body weight onto your ass.
6. When the glass shatters and your ass crashes through, act surprised: wide eyes, O-shaped mouth, hands flapping like doves.
7. This will make your boss leap up and go into Former Boy Scout Mode (TM) that he has not employed in 40 years. He will pull you out of the rubble by the elbows.
8. Upon setting back on your feet, take note of your surroundings. Your ass has crashed through a glass coffee table, at work, causing a bit of a ruckus. When co-workers start lumbering over, act calm despite your utter embarrassment.
9. Notice the drops of blood on the floor. Shit, is that YOUR blood? And why does it feel like you have a killer wedgie from outer space? Damn!
10. Upon reaching back to pick the Wedgie From Outer Space (TM) (R), notice that it is not your underwear (luckily, you somehow had the foresight to wear red underwear on this bloody day) that is caught up in between your butt cheeks, but rather, it's a 6 INCH SHARD OF GLASS THAT HAS BURIED ITSELF INTO YOUR FLESH.
11. Stay calm.
12. Just kidding, FREAK THE FUCK OUT (on the inside)!
13. Pull it out gently. Notice how it feels like you're slicing into a Christmas Ham -- funny, there's no pain!
14. Cram paper towels into your ass to ebb the sudden gushes of warm blood, and wait for the ambulance to come. Wonder if your paramedic ex-boyfriend will come. Feel very conflicted about it and enjoy the momentarily distracting thought.
15. Twenty minutes later, wonder where the paramedics are, and why your legs are trembling, and if you'll cry. You won't. Okay, a little, but your co-workers will politely look away.
16. When the medics come, realize with dread that you MAY have to leave your office building on a chest-high stretcher, on your stomach, with your Ass In the Air, like Forrest Gump.
17. When the paramedics ask you, "How bad is the pain on a scale of 0-10," feel happy that you can answer, "Guys, I've had worse after Mexican food. 2." Feel pleased with self -- no, really, go on! It's okay.
18. In the emergency room, be prepared to have several doctors form a semi-circle around your bed and ask you while barely stifling their laughter (which is inevitable with any kind of Traumatic Ass Injury), "What happened?" Tell them the ridiculous story and share a few laughs.
19. As more doctors come in behind your curtain, welcome them to "The Butt Party." One of them may "raise the roof" while saying, "HAYYY."
20. Be prepared to have several doctors look for internal bleeding by sticking their finger up your ass. Three times. Then enjoy the feeling of having a Q-tip stuck all the way into your wound, to see how far it goes. TWO INCHES! Note that the bloody Q-tip will be left on a plastic chair near your bedside for the rest of your stay in the ER. It's like a little friend -- talk to it if you'd like.
21. When they do find blood in your rectum, bite down on that leather strap and get ready for a load of fun! And by "Load of Fun (TM)" I mean getting a 6 inch metal tube shoved up your ass while you struggle to find your "Special Happy Place." They will also use a small rubber pump to blast air into your ass. Try not to fart in the doctor's face -- they are trying to help you (and amuse themselves slightly).
22. When they roll over a giant IV bag full of clear fluid, note that this is not for intravenous administration. This is to spray up your ass. The nurse will pump this into your ass and you have to tell her when it feels like you're going to spew shitty water all over. Then you'll have to get up and spray shitty water out of your ass in the shared public restroom. At this point, you should wonder if you should be writing this for your internet audience -- Answer: Yes, you should.
23. Entertain your lovely visitors -- they care about you! Show them your ass, if you'd like. They don't mind.
24. CAT scan time! Wheeeeee!
25. CAT scan result: "You have a lot of air in your pelvis." Translation: "You have a wicked case of the farts." Blush.
26. Stay calm while the trauma surgery doctor comes over and explains that they're going to sedate you in order to stick a camera up your ass. "No biggie," you might think. But then the whammy -- the doc will say, "If we find a hole in your rectum, we're going to have to knock you out completely and operate. We might do this through your butthole, but if we have to go through your abdomen, you'll need a... you know, one of those..." (He'll motion to the side of his stomach now) "Colostomy bags?" you'll say. "Yes. For 2-3 months."
27. Try not to freak out at the idea of having a bag attached to the outside of your body, into which you'll have to poo. Take a deep breath and return to your "Special Happy Place" in your mind.
28. "Okay, cool man," you'll say. "Let's do it."
29. Upon receiving sedation, as you're fading in and out of consciousness, spurt out the last words: "God, you doctors here are all so YOUNG and HOT!" Ignore the doctor that says, "Quick -- put her under!"
30. Despite the anesthesiologist claiming that you won't feel or remember anything, you may remember the odd feeling of huge instruments going into your ass. Smile.
31. Wake up to someone shaking your shoulder. "We didn't find anything, you did great," translates to "YEAH! NO SHITTING INTO A BAG!"
32. Silently cry tears of joy in the recovery room. Call everyone you know and shout, "I DON'T HAVE TO SHIT INTO A BAG," and quickly hang up. It's best to leave them guessing.
33. Get wheeled up to your hospital room, where you'll have to stay for another two days. Two relaxing days of watching Law & Order and the Tyra Banks show all damn day.
34. Oh yeah, and you can only eat/drink clear liquids. This means for the next 48 hours or so, you can only eat Jell-O and chicken broth. Try not to seem too excited at the idea of losing a few pounds.
35. Wait and see if you get sick -- if you get a fever and start barfing, it means that you're Really Fucked Now. This would mean that the hole in your rectum is leaking poo into your body, which will form little pockets of rotting poo that will travel around your body. Hope that it doesn't happen. Watch another episode of Matlock.
Blah, blah, blah, okay okay, I'm getting lost on a tangent as usual, and my fucking ass is freaking killing me, so I'll end my How To Bust Your Ass tutorial here for now. I consider myself incredibly lucky that: (1) my boss pulled me out of the glass shards, because otherwise, if I'd struggled, that piece of glass would have gone right through my body and probably would have killed me, (2) everyone at the hospital was incredible, (3) I, for some reason, have people that care about me, and (4) I do not have rotting pockets of poo floating around my body, plotting my demise.
Anyway, if there's anything that you can take away from the stupid nonsense that I write, it's please, guys, never, ever sit on glass tables. No, really, that's it. It's easy, right? Just don't do it. I know all the cool kids are doing it these days, but don't. Unless you want to end up shitting out of a hole in the small of your back.
(Heh heh!)
So I'm at home looking for donut cushions for my ass on eBay now, and preparing to be the "butt" of a few jokes... so fire away.
[Peek-a-Foo]
