Two phone calls.
I'm feeling much better. This weekend certainly did me some good. We didn't do a whole lot beyond lazing about, talking, playing video games, and cuddling, but that's what I needed: a whole lot of nothing. Especially considering the next couple weekends will be fairly busy. Birthday on Saturday, then renning a week later.
I had two phone calls of note yesterday.
The first woke me up around noon. My sleep schedule, which is erratic at best on weekdays, is even worse on weekends. It was my brother, and I just missed the call because the phone was on the other side of the apartment. He had apparently called twelve hours earlier (when I happened to be in bed also, since I slept from about 11pm to 3am then 11am to 5pm). I checked the voicemail he'd left overnight before calling him back. What I heard was something to the effect of, "I hate leaving this in voicemail, but I can't get in touch with anyone else and I need to tell someone. Tom got hit by a car. He's dead. I don't know what to do." I wasn't quite sure how to feel, but damn, it had been twelve hours. I needed to call him. So, I sat right down and called him back. He said, "He's dead. He got hit by a car, Nicole." And, well, I'm wondering, What was Tom doing out in the street. If he was in a car, he'd say that he was in an accident, not that he got hit by a car. Weird. So, I asked, "What was he doing on the road? Was he driving?" This floored Eric. There was a pause before he asked, "Was who driving?" Now that gave me pause. "Wait. Who got hit by a car?" "Punk." "Oh! On the message, I could have sworn you said Tom." "Oh. Well, Punk was not driving..." Really, I feel guilty for how funny I find that. Ugh.
But yeah, Punk (AKA Sylvester, Artemis, Skippy) is dead. He was hit by a car. Eric was the only one home at the time and was asked by a neighbor to confirm that it was Punk. He said his head was smashed in, one of his eyes on the road behind him. I can't even imagine how that image might just burn itself into one's brain. When I was in third grade, I used to walk to school every morning. There was a dead racoon on the side of the road which I slowly watched decompose over the course of a couple weeks, watched the maggots weaving through its ribcage. I can still see that pretty clearly even though it was almost twenty years ago. We're talking just over twenty four hours. No wonder he's having trouble sleeping. We've talked a lot today, tonight. If I get some sleep in the morning or can get tomorrow off, I'm going to drive up to see him. Well, and other members of my family, which brings me to strange call number two.
I was lying in bed, teetering between sleep and dream, the remains of my most recent dream lingering about in my head as I was deciding whether to get up or sleep some more. I was considering calling my mom because I had dreamt about her, just as an excuse to talk, so that I can call her for once about something silly and trivial and not have to talk about money or stuff like that. In my dream, we were in New Jersey visiting my Aunt Maggie, though I can't remember why. She'd fallen asleep, I think, and so had I. When I looked at the clock, it was 11.49 pm. So, I decided to call out, even if it was eleven minutes before my shift started. Then we were laughing and talking about something, and planning on a nice, relaxed trip home. It was weird. So, there I am, lying in bed, thinking about calling my mom to tell her about the dream in which we were visiting Aunt Maggie in New Jersey even though she lives in Florida... and the phone rings. It's mom. We talk for a while about Punk and Eric and how hard it must have been for him and what not. We talk about how she was in Maryland overnight with her best friend, watching a show she did at some marina down there. Then she asks if Eric told me about Grandmom. No. Well, Grandmom had fallen down the stairs a couple days ago and broke her shoulder. Aunt Maggie's up to visit and help. So, if I can, I'm going with my mom tomorrow evening to visit my Aunt Maggie, who usually lives in Florida, in New Jersey. Usually, my dreams stick to the fantastic and the symbolic. It isn't often I get the precognitive in there. So, that was an interesting surprise.
There had been something else I'd wanted to write about, but now I forget what it is. Maybe something about wonder back massages and surprising questions, but really, I'm too mushy too often lately.
I had two phone calls of note yesterday.
The first woke me up around noon. My sleep schedule, which is erratic at best on weekdays, is even worse on weekends. It was my brother, and I just missed the call because the phone was on the other side of the apartment. He had apparently called twelve hours earlier (when I happened to be in bed also, since I slept from about 11pm to 3am then 11am to 5pm). I checked the voicemail he'd left overnight before calling him back. What I heard was something to the effect of, "I hate leaving this in voicemail, but I can't get in touch with anyone else and I need to tell someone. Tom got hit by a car. He's dead. I don't know what to do." I wasn't quite sure how to feel, but damn, it had been twelve hours. I needed to call him. So, I sat right down and called him back. He said, "He's dead. He got hit by a car, Nicole." And, well, I'm wondering, What was Tom doing out in the street. If he was in a car, he'd say that he was in an accident, not that he got hit by a car. Weird. So, I asked, "What was he doing on the road? Was he driving?" This floored Eric. There was a pause before he asked, "Was who driving?" Now that gave me pause. "Wait. Who got hit by a car?" "Punk." "Oh! On the message, I could have sworn you said Tom." "Oh. Well, Punk was not driving..." Really, I feel guilty for how funny I find that. Ugh.
But yeah, Punk (AKA Sylvester, Artemis, Skippy) is dead. He was hit by a car. Eric was the only one home at the time and was asked by a neighbor to confirm that it was Punk. He said his head was smashed in, one of his eyes on the road behind him. I can't even imagine how that image might just burn itself into one's brain. When I was in third grade, I used to walk to school every morning. There was a dead racoon on the side of the road which I slowly watched decompose over the course of a couple weeks, watched the maggots weaving through its ribcage. I can still see that pretty clearly even though it was almost twenty years ago. We're talking just over twenty four hours. No wonder he's having trouble sleeping. We've talked a lot today, tonight. If I get some sleep in the morning or can get tomorrow off, I'm going to drive up to see him. Well, and other members of my family, which brings me to strange call number two.
I was lying in bed, teetering between sleep and dream, the remains of my most recent dream lingering about in my head as I was deciding whether to get up or sleep some more. I was considering calling my mom because I had dreamt about her, just as an excuse to talk, so that I can call her for once about something silly and trivial and not have to talk about money or stuff like that. In my dream, we were in New Jersey visiting my Aunt Maggie, though I can't remember why. She'd fallen asleep, I think, and so had I. When I looked at the clock, it was 11.49 pm. So, I decided to call out, even if it was eleven minutes before my shift started. Then we were laughing and talking about something, and planning on a nice, relaxed trip home. It was weird. So, there I am, lying in bed, thinking about calling my mom to tell her about the dream in which we were visiting Aunt Maggie in New Jersey even though she lives in Florida... and the phone rings. It's mom. We talk for a while about Punk and Eric and how hard it must have been for him and what not. We talk about how she was in Maryland overnight with her best friend, watching a show she did at some marina down there. Then she asks if Eric told me about Grandmom. No. Well, Grandmom had fallen down the stairs a couple days ago and broke her shoulder. Aunt Maggie's up to visit and help. So, if I can, I'm going with my mom tomorrow evening to visit my Aunt Maggie, who usually lives in Florida, in New Jersey. Usually, my dreams stick to the fantastic and the symbolic. It isn't often I get the precognitive in there. So, that was an interesting surprise.
There had been something else I'd wanted to write about, but now I forget what it is. Maybe something about wonder back massages and surprising questions, but really, I'm too mushy too often lately.