This isn’t a real post. It’s just me catching you up on assorted shit in case you don’t read twitter. Also? Spoiler alert for my mom: I’m still alive. No worries.
So yesterday I woke up at 3am with incredible pain in my chest like I’d been stomped on by a dozen brontosauruses who were giving piggie-back rides to grand pianos, and so after taking a shitload of aspirin I woke Victor up by thoughtfully screaming “I’M DYING, YOU ASSHOLE” because apparently I get kind of inappropriately angry when I’m hurty and scared. Then we put Hailey in the car and sped down the road because we’re too stupid to just call for an ambulance. Or at least, that’s what the police told us when they pulled us over for speeding. Hailey was like “Are you guys going to go to jail?” and I was all “Only your father. I’m not going to be alive that long.” Or at least that’s what I said in my mind. In real life I just whimpered, “It’s fine, bunny. Go back to sleep.” Then the ambulance came and I got a ride to the hospital but I was in too much pain to even tweet about it or to instagram an arty picture of my feet in front of the ambulance doors and that’s kind of the definition of pain, in my opinion. Then they hooked me up to a million monitors and the ambulance guy looked at the readings and was all “…Oh.” And I was like, “WHAT THE HELL DOES ‘OH’ MEAN?” and then he gave me some nitroglycerin to put under my tongue and I was all, “The explosive from Little House on the Prairie?” and he just stared at me and shoved the drug in my mouth and told the driver to go faster, but technically I wasn’t hallucinating because there was totally an episode of Little House on the Prairie where Pa had to drive a wagon of explosive nitroglycerin across a river, so I think the lesson here is that ambulance drivers need to be better versed in pop culture. Also, nitroglycerin tastes like pain. Which makes sense since it’s an explosive but they should really be like, “Hey, this is like a red-hot soaked in the blood of Satan but it will distract you from all of the Little House on the Prairie hallucinations you’re not having. It’s totally normal to make your mouth feel like it’s betraying you for not spitting it out and punching me. No worries.” Then lots of other stuff happened but it all blended in together and I woke up in the hospital with needles and wires sticking everywhere and then many, many hours later the doctor told me that my heart was awesome and that I’d probably had a severe gallbladder attack or a panic attack, and then we went home and slept for several hours until we ended up in the Minor Emergency Center because both Victor and Hailey came down with minor infections. So basically our whole family is falling to shit.
Today though we are all medicated up and we feel fine. So fine, in fact, that we went to an antique store and I found this bear head and asked twitter to convince me not to buy it:
But they were useless because they wanted it as badly as I did, but then I noticed the price tag and I’m not about to spend $200 for something that doesn’t even come with a neck. Instead I’m holding out for a half-bear that still has arms to hug you with, because I think that would be very comforting when you were having a bad day. Then Victor was all “Bears don’t hug you. They maul you” and I reminded him that there’s a reason they call the best hugs “bear hugs” and I wrote “Look for bear arms” on my to-do list. I think this whole bear incident is a sign of my maturing financial wiles and Victor says it’s a sign of my declining mental health, but in the end we left without a dead bear so everyone wins. Except the bear, I guess.
This whole post needs way more commas and is even more rambly than usual. Side-effect of the nitroglycerin, I suspect. That and exploding, probably.
PS. Spell-check says that “rambly” isn’t a real word. Obviously spell-check doesn’t read this blog.