The Great Unknown

No one I love has died. (Knock on wood.) My grandparents died within my lifetime, but the particular layout of our family ensured I didn't have a close relationship with them, any of them. My teacher died. My great-uncles died. I'm sure more will die. Death to me is associated with a deep sense of guilt -- self-chatisation (is that a word?) that I didn't spend more time with this person, didn't get to know them better, didn't care MORE. Do you ever feel like you are floating above the world, incapable of engaging with the people around you? So caught up in your own life? I consider myself lazy when it comes to human relationships and dishes. Doing Laundry. I wonder how it happened that I did not learn these skills and instead got caught up in now. Now. Now. Now.

I cried when my dog died. My Mom had to put her to sleep, she had ripped open her eye where there was an abscess. An abscess I think she got when she fell off the stairs of the apartment I was renting in Burnaby with Toni Rozylo. Sometimes I get visitations from my dog in my sleep. I think our dog was our protector, even still today. I regret not protecting her better, but I just couldn't get down the stairs fast enough to save her from walking off the platform. She could not see very well and was disoriented after a long car ride.

I know it will happen for me one day. (Is this tempting fate?) You know, D----H. Now I feel superstitious. Have I called attention to a deficit in my life? Will the gods respond? Shit.

using people

I've been reading about how we as humans have developed a system so that we don't have to remember everything. For instance, we don't remember everyone's phone number, but we remember where to find them. Couples will develop a shared memory where one person is charged with the tasks of remembering certain arenas of knowledge. That is part of why the process of divorce is so difficult, because each individual is effectively losing half their brain. So I was thinking about the family unit as a team working together to, what, survive? Procreate? Make life as enjoyable as possible? REMEMBER THINGS? This does not bode well for one as unattached as me...

get the juices flowing again. please.

So so so what? So all these writers over the past few days who are so so so young with such clear clear clear voices and me feeling worn down by computers and calculations and tasks and obligations. Where is the time for me? When will I make the stew I bought ingredients for on Sunday? The stir fry? The pasta. All these plans stocked in the crisper of my fridge, inevitably getting stale and soggy.

And my throat feels rough and my chest twitchy. Could it be that I'm... No! I refuse to admit or even articulate what could be happening inside me.

SO. Instead of this self pity, I'm-so-old-and-it's-too-late-for-me crap, I'm digging stuff up. And you are the lucky recipient. I've developed an image of you in my mind that is tolerant and even entertained by the abberation that is me. Maybe not every part of me, but it's early enough that most parts are still charming to you. So, indulge me, please. The next rabbit is on me.

I am excited by the notion of your broad beans. I am excited by the idea of bed. I'm thrilled -- however feminine that sounds -- by the concept of each person being a constant in his or her own life and the unfamiliarity of time passing, the rude shock (that is the reality) that we get OLDER that we AGE that we will one day DIE. [Gina said to me, "we don't think we will ever die. I mean, we know we will die. We know it. But we don't think it will ever actually happen. To us."] There are all things we know: Brocolli look like small trees. Fresh air is good for you. Dreams contain more wisdom than we're comfortable with, which is why we call them dreams.

Where am I going with all this? Gosh. I've revved myself up into a churning machine pumping out poetic platitudes. Best to stop before you change your mind about me. could you ? Would you? Perish the thought. Kill it dead.

it's in you to give

Today I donated blood for the first time. It was not an unpleasant experience, nor was it comfortable. I can still feel the echo of that seemingly too large needle jammed into my veins. I unwisely chose to ride my bike there. It took 35 minutes to go and 45 to return, so nervous was I of straining my heart. My mind is fuzzy right now. And my body weak. Not a good day to move furniture, which I started to do this morning. Bad planning on my part, but it will all get done. Eventually.

I reccommend giving blood. And asking as many questions as you can. They treat you really well, care about your experience and give you as many cookies as you can eat afterwards. (For me: three packages. And two cups of tang.) In all they take 2 cups of blood, or 585 grams. You can watch as much of the process as you like or zone out or watch TV. Or, better yet, watch the other people. Those who get dizzy and whose chairs are suddenly tipped up, who are plastered with damp paper towels on their foreheads, chests and wrists.

Just don't do the following.

1) don't forget to eat breakfast. Or lunch. Or book your appointment at lunch or breakfast time. Book your appointment in a nice, middle of the day time. A time when your belly is full. But not too full. You might barf.

2) Don't spend the morning rearranging your furniture, or at least if you do, be sure to finish so that when you get home and all you feel like doing is lie down you actually have somewhere to lie that is not the floor. As nice as the floor is, the bed is better.

3) Don't ride your bike. Or at least be prepared to double the length of your ride home. They say to avoid anything strenuous. Just keep the heart rate down and you should be fine.

I did all three of those things. I am fine. I do have a bruise that is starting to heal on my arm.

I called – as instructed by the informative pamphlet – to inform the nurse at Canadian Blood Services that I did, in fact, have a bruise around the "needle site." "Is this normal?" I asked. Yes, she replied, then proceeded to ask if I had any streaking up and down my arm. How big the bruise was. If I had a fever. No. No. No.

Here are some things that I didn't know. That when you need blood, you can receive blood from a particular donor only once. After that your body has created antibodies and will reject the blood. If you are waiting for a donor organ, you will most likely die not because the organ is unavailable, but because you exhaust the supply of donors before you get the organ. There are a finite number of donors out there. This is why they treat the new ones so well.

Also, it is not a race. No matter how competitive you feel, regardless of those urges that compel us to rush ahead faster than the guy in the next reclining chair, it's your blood. And your blood wants to stay inside you. Asking it to exit is strange enough on its own. Forcing it to exit at a greater rate than it is prepared to leave is probably unwise. So squeeze the warm ball, yes, but don't rush. Watch TV. Relax. Think forward to the cookies. You'll get there eventually.

Finally, the amount of blood they take is about 10% of what's in you. That's not much and a lot at the same time. So treat yourself well. You deserve it. You are saving a life, and that feels good.

It is in you to give. That is one marketing campaign that really sticks with me.