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March 9, 2007
Is That a Scythe in Your Pocket, or Are You Just Happy to See Me?
Death stalks us all. Well, some more than others.
You know, I was going to use today to talk about how I don't have a dark side. I mean, I have my pissy moments, but typically I'm pretty cheerful. I tend towards the optimistic, which the friend who used to call me Pollyanna in college might think is a bit of an understatement, but whatever. For the most part, I'm a bright-side, make-the-best-of-a-bad-situation kind of girl.
And as I was composing this sun-shiny essay in my head, I realized that, while to all outward appearances I maintain a pretty bright outlook, deep in my head, there's some dark stuff going on, and I'm confessing here, to the Chicklets, the ugly truth.
I have a minor obsession with death.
In the time-honored tradition of women in their thirties, I blame my mother.
And Reader's Digest.
See, she used to read Reader's Digest every week, and almost every week, there was some hopeful story about overcoming tragedy. Something awful would happen, and then the rest of the story was about hope and continuing on in the face of devastation. Unfortunately, my mom seemed to stop reading after the tragedy, filing the horrible incident away in a mental rolodex to pull out whenever I did... anything.
"Don't play on the swings! A kid in Minnesota played on the swings, and he flew off, hit a concrete wall, and has been eating through a straw ever since."
"Cross the road? Are you crazy? A woman in Cheyenne walked across the street to get her mail, and a Mack Truck took her out right there. While her dog watched."
"Breathe? Seriously? You're breathing now? Haven't you heard about the people at Love Canal? They breathed, too, and took in all the toxins, and they dropped like flies."
And so the result of a careful mother and a thousand cautionary tales is... me. I never tell anyone, but I guarantee, at any minute of the day, I'm probably pondering my own death (or, now that I'm a mom, the deaths of my children, which is a thousand times worse). And what's better is that I don't need no stinkin' cautionary tales from the Reader's Digest; being blessed with a writer's imagination, I see every murderin', maimin' potential in my mind's eye whenever I do... anything.
For instance, when I take sharp knives from the dishwasher to the silverware drawer, I hold them up above my head, pointing heavenward, in case Sweetness or Light rush me for a hug. Which, in my defense, happens a lot when I'm at the silverware drawer. I don't know why.
Every time I drive over a bridge, I see an imaginary truck coming at me, ready to push me over the side, either into highway traffic below or, even better, a cold, watery grave.
And don't even get me started on the hypochondria. Twinge in my side? Heart attack. Pimple on my breast? Cancer. (Don't laugh; I'm not kidding. I wigged. And, yes... it went away before I even made it to the doctor's.) Splinter hemorrhage in my fingernail? Despite the fact that both pianists and typists (i.e., maybe, I dunno, writers) are prone to this because of constant battering trauma to the tips of their fingers, I went in to my doctor and said, "I think I have endocarditis." Which is a deadly infection in the heart that can happen if people with a heart murmur go to the dentist without taking antibiotics first.
Not that I've ever been diagnosed with a heart murmur.
But just because I've never been diagnosed with it doesn't mean I don't have it.
Aaaaaannnnnnddd.... that's why I'm no longer allowed to research medical symptoms on the internet.
So, I don't know. Maybe this is why I'm so sun-shiny all the time, Little Miss Bright Side. Because deep down inside, I'm just a little convinced that a bee sting is going to send me into anaphylactic shock before the day's out. Or, you know, an aneurysm could get me. Aneurysms are sneaky little buggers; they sit in your head for years with nary a symptom and then BOOM. You drop in the dairy aisle while trying to figure out what the freakin' difference is between A-grade and AA-grade eggs. (Seriously? Have these people never heard of B? What is that A obsession about?)
You know, reading back on this, it's hard to believe I was really going to tell you people I didn't have a dark side. Heh. And I'm not really that wigged by death, I just want to at least get the kids raised and out of the house before I kick it. And grandchildren; I definitely want to see my grandchildren. Although, once, I heard this story about a woman in Seattle whose granddaughter pushed her off the side of a ferry...
Well. Guess I just won't move to Seattle, then.
A couple of quick notes before I hit the road:
One, thanks so much to the Chicklets who came out to see me at Nora's last weekend. It was such a blast, and I loved meeting you!
Two, The Fortune Quilt is on shelves now, so get your copy today if you haven't already! And if you have - yay, you! (You always were my favorite.)
Three, Will Write for Wine, my podcast with my wonderful friend Samantha Graves about wine, writing and song... but mostly wine and writing... launches this Saturday! We recorded the first episode last night and it'll be up tomorrow and, if I do say so myself, it rocks! Plus, we're giving books away, so visit the site to find out how to subscribe, and how to win!
Four (I swear this is the last one) Alesia/Alyssa and I are being featured at Dee and dee Dish... About Books, and they're doing a big basket giveaway with stuff from both of us, so be sure to stop by and find out how you can win!
This book was brought to you by Alesia’s new book, written as Alyssa Day,
ATLANTIS RISING. Welcome to the dark side!!
Posted by Lani at 7:03 AM | Comments (13)
Comments
I'm glad to know I'm not the only writer who suffers from that little tick. I alway wondered if that has something to do with why I write murder mysteries, cozies but muder mysteries none the less.
Posted by: Renaissancegrrl at March 9, 2007 10:07 AM
Gee, I must be a writer. I think these kind of things ALL THE TIME, even though I am a sun-shiny optimist.
Yes I've got The Fortune Quilt, so I do deserve your favoritism. [I love it. I half-way through and if it wasn't for that stupid job-hunting thing, I would have more time to read].
Posted by: hollygee at March 9, 2007 10:50 AM
Ooh! I LOVED those Readers Digest stories! Remember the one where a storm knocked down some electrical lines and the people had to get out of the house without touching the floor or they would be electrocuted?
Posted by: The LC Eileen ![[TypeKey Profile Page]](http://www.literarychicks.com/nav-commenters.gif)
at March 9, 2007 11:10 AM
No. But I'm pretty sure my mother has. Before I went to Alaska, she told me that bears could smell menstruation, and would come and eat me in my tent. Which, when I think about it, why would she tell me that? I was going to Alaska. I was going to live in a tent for three months. I couldn't not menstruate, so... I'm still trying to figure that one out.
Posted by: Lani at March 9, 2007 2:48 PM
Um... can I just stay ditto to everything you said there? Yeah. That's me. Except when I do get something bad, I sit here and say it's nothing. A hang nail, I'm going to lose my hand. Cellulitis around my eye. Eh. I can work through that.
What the... I am a case.
Posted by: Cate at March 9, 2007 3:39 PM
I decided to do a breast exam out of the blue one night (usually in the morning in the shower), when I actually panicked at finding a lump. Yep, me sooo sensitive: it was my nipple.
Posted by: wendy at March 9, 2007 5:06 PM
One of my friends lived in a tent in the Northwest territories for a few months one summer. She said she cleared the entire campsite one night by announcing that she needed to burn all of her used feminine hygience products. She was the only girl there . . .
Posted by: The LC Eileen at March 9, 2007 5:07 PM
Gee, and my mother only worried about me being killed by terrorists. (I was in the UK, and Ireland, in the 90's before the current peace, but I wasn't in Northern Ireland - or at least not as far as she knew). And Georgetown. She was worried about me going to Georgetown (the DC neighborhood.) I still never figured that one out. But perhaps she was secretly suppressing fears of bears and electrocution, and these were the ones she couldn't hold back...
Posted by: RandomRanter at March 9, 2007 5:29 PM
Um, Lan, NO MORE WEB MD. And by the way, gals, I have had to calm Lani down more than once during the life of our friendship (no in its seventh year) regarding some terrible disease or illness. She's called, palms sweaty, voice quivering and said, "I know you won't think I'm going nuts, but there's this thing on my right thigh...." I love you, babe. mtml, W
Posted by: Wanda Woo at March 9, 2007 11:57 PM
Cate, I know what you mean. I never go to the dr. except on the endocarditis thing, and the look she gave me was priceless. Apparently, with that infection, by the time you get the splinter hemorrhages, you've already spiked a fever of 110. It was funny, though. She just looked at me and quietly said, "You said you're a writer? You type a lot?" And I said, "Yeah," and she said, "Don't worry about it."
LC Eileen - OMG about your friend! I assume this prevented the bear attacks, then. And I imagine the guys left her alone after that, too!
Random - as a mother, I can tell you, I only express about 10% of the very scary stuff that's always in my head. I'd bet your mother was the same way.
Woo - LOL! I forgot that you got the panicked phone call about the endocarditis! Yes, Wanda is my go-to girl when I'm panicking. She always tells me to get a glass of wine, and it works! Easy therapy!
And yes. I'm two years clean of Web MD, and my life has been MUCH easier...
Posted by: Lani at March 10, 2007 9:18 AM
Okay, I sat here LMAO because I saw myself in all of these. Totally. Now, I'm usually too embarassed to actually go to the doctor so I sit around the house for two months, running a low-grade fever, and wait for the appointment for my annual exam (yesterday) and then unload like 30 different symptoms onto her. Poor thing.
Wendy? Scared my son by laughing hysterically over the "lump" you found just now.
Posted by: Dia at March 10, 2007 7:32 PM
I don't do the hypochondria thing. But the death thing? I see it coming for me all the time. My husband thinks I'm worse than morbid. Seriously though, with virtually every single thing I do, I can see some sort of catastrophe. If I walk down the stairs, I see myself falling, landing at an odd angle, breaking my neck and death getting me. If I'm driving, i see cars crossing the white line, crashing into me, airbag not working, and death getting me. At least 40 times a day, I see death getting me. No, I'm really not exaggerating. Not just me though, it's for my husband too. If he's more than 10 minutes late, I'm sure he's dead on the side of the road.
The kinda weird thing is that it never ends with death. No, not for me. I actually "see" my funeral, then what happens after. How will he care for the kids? Will they have to go to school? Will he ever take a vacation with them? Take them to DisneyWorld? Will they get rid of my dog? And if HE is the one that dies, will I have to cook for his wake? Will his parents show up and be mad because it's been two weeks since I mopped my floors? Will people think I'm nuts when I sell everything and head to Tuscany?
Thankfully, the entire mental montage rarely lasts more than 5 seconds. But still. At least 40 times a day. How do I manage to still be happy? I have no idea. But like you, I'm kind of a Pollyanna.
Go figure.
Posted by: dee at March 11, 2007 3:46 AM
Wow...thank you for the information about splinter hemorrhages...I was starting to get panicky about endocarditis myself!
Posted by: AnotherWendy at April 7, 2007 11:15 PM
