Monday, August 8, 2011


I passed out at 6 am this morning. This is not a common occurrence for me. Basically, once a decade. So I should be good-to-go until 2020 or so.


What caused it? Probably the G.I. distress that ripped 4 pounds off me in less than a minute…quite exciting. What caused the G.I. distress? Could have been the corset I’m sporting for the skit. Could have been a wee pesky ovarian cyst bursting. Or a delightful cocktail of the two.

My 1990s fainting spell coincided with Poppy being given his first stress test. That one and only stress test ended with him in the operating room getting a triple by-pass. When I say coincided I mean I was in Germany while he was in Connecticut. Exact same time. Not that six pm RAPTURE time crap, but proper six-hour-difference-time-zone-time. I think we may have been connected.

Perhaps this morning Poppy was slapping me upside the head wicked hard. I wonder what I’ve done to offend?

And what is the Heaven-Pittsfield time zone difference?

As I lay on the floor for an hour after my face slammed into the bureau in an unceremonious fashion, I bemoaned my fate, “If I was married, there would be someone to pick me up of the floor. If I was married, maybe the poor sod would have even helped me off the can so I never would have passed out at all!”

I went through a similar self-pitying monologue about a decade ago when I choked on a piece of chicken. That was the fainting spell of the aughts...after self-heimliching on the third-floor banister of my building. (I got cheers from the ER attendants, “How wise of you not to die!”)

Ten years ago, I was in desperate need of Henry Heimlich Husband at 4:30 in the afternoon. No husband of mine would have been home at that hour anyway. And this morning? Well, right now I’m cohabitating with six other people. SIX! Not a one heard the mighty oak topple. If I was married, Freddy Faint Fiance wouldn’t have heard it either.

So, I sit in bed. A little creaky. A fat lip. A gash in my nose. Icing all with frosty cans of TaB.

I'm pretty sure it wasn't supposed to be this way, but it is and I’m not going to involve myself in THAT monologue. I’d rather drink the beloved TaB, meditate and watch a wee bit of Izzard.

1 comment:

  1. You have my sympathy. Having hit the ground myself, even with people nearby to help you up, it don't make the actual hittin' of the ground any easier.

    Thank heavens we had our share of "Well, that was interesting" moments in college, to warm us up for what would follow in the Real World... funny how each moment in our wacko journey prepares us for the next wacko moment. As is demonstrated by your cross-continental synchronicity.

    Then again, as the Firesign Theater (in their heyday in our college days) asked so prophetically for our aforementioned wacko lives, "Is this trip really necessary?"


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