Tag Archive: death


My emotions are all over the place lately.

I mean, it’s a well known fact that I cry at the drop of a hat, but it’s getting a little crazy.

I think the looming end of Harry Potter is to blame. Honestly.

For the past few months, I have been listening to the Harry Potter audiobooks from the very beginning of the series. I am finally a little over half-way through the seventh book, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, but it’s been a long road.  I’m just so invested in them and I’m going to be really sad once the last movie comes out and ends it all. I know that the books and movies will live on, but for the past ten years, it’s like I have had either a book or a movie to look forward to. It’s all just going to be over.

(Oh hey, Melodramatic-Katie. I didn’t know you were going to be here today!)

The thing is… since I’ve been breathing Harry Potter for the past few months, my mind is pretty much saturated with Harry Potter information. I use Harry Potter references in my everyday conversations. I’m not mad about this at all, but I think it concerns others, or just leaves them feeling confused. (And I really wouldn’t consider this an unhealthy addiction or obsession or anything, seriously.  I mean, I know someone who is inappropriately obsessed with something of late and I am nowhere near her level of insanity. I just wanted to make that clear… lol.)

Back to my emotions… I promise all of this is relevant.

I do, however, want to preface this example of out-of-control emotions with the fact that I happened to be intoxicated when this event occurred and that this might not count.  So, a few weeks ago, my brother and I had some people over to his house to hang out (and then The Tripod left to go to the bars- you know how we do.) and get crazy. Right before we left, I’m actually not sure what triggered this but whatever, we ended up shouting curses and jinxes at each other. Like, we were having our very own wizard’s duel.  It started between the two other legs of the tripod and myself but then Drew got involved.  Right when I was about to shout Expelliarmus at him, he hurled Aveda Kedavra at me.  It was at that moment that I burst into tears and the duel ended.

Megan stared at us in incredulity while Seneca watched in awe as Drew quickly showed remorse for yelling the Killing Curse my way.  He wrapped me in a hug and told me that he didn’t mean it and that he loved me.  It got serious.  I had immediately told him that it wasn’t nice to kill me and that I would absolutely die if anything ever happened to him and that he should never use that curse, ever.

It was ridiculous, to say the very least. But, every time I think about it, I laugh. It’s funny and cute and kind of a heartwarming moment between him and me.

A couple weeks ago, I was driving home from work and it happened to coincide with the time (Oh Em Gee, Spoiler Alert) Dumbledore dies near the end of HP6, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.  It also happened to be after a particularly long day of work when I was still very sick and I was exhausted.  So, naturally, when JKR begins her description of the grief expressed by all of the characters in the book, I began to weep as well. Once it started, I couldn’t stop.  I was bawling my eyes out the entire forty-five minutes it takes for me to get home from work.  By the time I got home, my face was red and puffy, I no longer had any eye makeup on, and I was doing that weird hiccup-breathing from the heaving sobs that had flowed out of me.

And just yesterday, I was driving home from work when (SPOILER ALERT) Dobby died.  I sob uncontrollably when I watch the movie (EVERY SINGLE TIME), so it’s no surprise that the book brought me to tears.  The grief Harry experiences, the burial, the words Luna says on his behalf… I just think all of it is so precious and heartbreaking.  Dobby was so pure of heart and an innocent, and the loss of his life is a travesty. Bellatrix Lestrange sucks, and I hate her.

It just seems like I’m always in my car when I’m having these emotional events.

This has got to stop! Except, I never want it to because that would require me to not listen to Harry Potter in my car, and I just don’t want to stop doing that. It makes my commute enjoyable.

Anyway, I guess my point is that I never would have guessed I would have gotten so involved in the series when I first picked up Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.  Not in a million years.  Even upon seeing the first film, I never thought I would feel such an affinity towards these characters and this world J.K. Rowling created. I just don’t know what I’ll do when it’s all over. Maybe once it’s over I won’t be so weepy about all things Harry Potter. Probably not, though.

Does anyone else feel this way about Harry Potter?! I know I can’t be alone in this.

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I have a problem with roadkill.

At 23, I should probably not think of wild animals in terms of Disney creatures that have homes and families and feelings. I know it seems ridiculous, but I just can’t help it. In my head, I only see Bambi’s mom, or the Beaver family from the Chronicles of Narnia, or Simba and how he ran away from Pride Rock after Mufasa’s death. These poor animals have others counting on them; they have responsibilities and a family to come home to.

When I see a raccoon’s guts splayed on the side of the road or a deer laying broken on the shoulder, my heart breaks.

On my way to work last week, I burst into tears when I saw a black cat squished in the middle of the road.  I cried for the little girl who loved that cat with her whole heart, I cried for the other kitty cat friends that Blackie had, and I cried for the person who hit the kitty and killed it.

It’s so sad to me and I can’t help but be really, really upset by it.

I hoped that I had hit my quota for roadkill for the week, but it seems that the universe had other plans. Yesterday, I experienced the most traumatizing roadkill event to date. I probably won’t tell it right or be able to express how deeply upset I was by this, but I’m going to try.

I was driving to meet my brother for dinner when this occurred.  I was driving happily, listening to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on CD, and I was halfway to my destination.  Just as I was picking up my phone from the passenger’s seat of my car to call Drew to ask him where he wanted to go for dinner, it happened.

By chance, I happened to notice a deer on the shoulder of the highway.  I can’t remember now what it was that made me come to this conclusion, but something told me that something wasn’t right about this deer. For one, it was not dead.  I could see its eyes and they were wide open.  Then, all of a sudden, it was picking itself up off the pavement, only it wasn’t going as it should have.

It all happened pretty fast, and I was driving as I was watching this, but I did see enough to be traumatized.

Poor Deery was having trouble standing up and I could tell that something was very wrong with her (I’m assuming?) hindquarters.  Deery couldn’t put any weight on her back legs. She began dragging her back legs as she tried to get away from the highway and the cars driving so fast past her. I had passed her and my vision was blurry with hot tears when I had dialed Drew via speed-dial on my phone.  By the time he picked up the phone, I was in the throes of a full-blown grief-meltdown.

What was so upsetting to me was that I did not see any vehicle near her that looked like it had been hit by a dear.  I didn’t see anyone around other than me and the other cars driving past this suffering animal. I couldn’t understand how someone could hit a deer and leave it to die in such a painful and agonizing way. The fact that where she had been hit was on top of a hill worried me.  Without the ability to use her back legs, how was she to navigate that hill to get back into the wooded safe haven? I think about it now and my heart hurts. I imagine that she fell down the hill and lay at the bottom, wishing to die because of the pain.  It is terrible, but I would have preferred someone shot her or something, to put her out of her misery.  It isn’t fair.

I explained what happened to Drew through thick sobs. He laughed at me.

After crying my eyes out and having him listen to me wail wordlessly, I tried to change the subject. He didn’t because he probably didn’t want to seem insensitive since I was so obviously upset. He’s such a good brother.

When I finally got the words out to ask him where we should go to dinner, he replied, “Well there’s this new venison place…”

That’s when a sob escaped and I hung up on him. I grabbed a mostly clean napkin off the passenger seat and wiped my eyes and blew my nose.

He called back.

“That wasn’t nice,” I cried.

He was joking and he was trying to make me laugh, but I wasn’t ready yet.  So I cried on the phone some more, cursed society and contemplated calling the police (or ANYBODY!) to have them come rescue Deery (or at least end her suffering).

I didn’t call the police, but I haven’t been able to get the image of that poor deer dragging its back legs out of my head.

I just can’t handle roadkill. It really hurts my heart.

I’ve been menstruating since, like, sixth grade. Blood coming out of my body is not necessarily a new thing.

But, um, that blood comes out of my vagina. And it’s regular, you know? Like, I can pretty much count on it.  And when I forget about it, I just have to remember the last time I cried in my bed for three days in a row for no particular reason (e.g. Drew uses the last of the milk on his second bowl of cereal Christmas morning; a stranger at Meijer gives me a dirty look; a Folgers Coffee commercial on TV) and I’ll realize that it’s about that time again.

But, this morning, when I realized that my body was gushing blood, I freaked the fuck out.

I do not like blood. I’d be, like, the worst vampire ever. It makes me queasy. Ever since Drew wrecked his face and I had to run from the neighbor’s house at age 5 (or something?) to tell our parents Drew’s lip was … not really on his face anymore, things just haven’t been okay for me and Blood. Even when it comes out of my vagina, I have to distance myself from it; I have to pretend it’s not really blood. Ugh. I have the willies just thinking about it.

Anyway, this gushing blood? It was not coming from my ladybox.

(Sorry I talked about my vagina, Drew.)

I can’t even tell you the last time I had a bloody nose.

Even though I’m clumsy as fuck and run into shit all the time, I haven’t hit my nose in a way that makes it bleed. When Drew chucked a tennis ball at my face, my nose didn’t bleed.

I wasn’t even participating in a strenuous activity. Nothing happened. There was no trauma to my face.

(This leads me to believe that something exploded in my brain and that I’m probably going to die.)

I was driving to work this morning, just driving along listening to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone on CD when OUT OF NOWHERE my nose started gushing blood. Literally. I couldn’t get a Kleenex to my face fast enough. There was SO MUCH BLOOD. And it was everywhere.

I was so ill-equipped.  What, with the almost-empty, smashed-to-hell box of Kleenex I keep in my car, the fact I was driving at a barely-legal 78 miles an hour on I-96 at 8am, and OH YEAH I HAVE NEVER HAD A BLOODY NOSE AND ALL OF MY FIRST-AID TRAINING APPARENTLY FLEW OUT OF MY BRAIN IN A PANIC BECAUSE I DO NOT POSSESS GRACE UNDER FIRE.

My intention was that I would be able to stop at Starbucks or Beaners (fuck that, I refuse to call it Biggby) to grab a caramel macchiato or chai latte (respectively) and make it to work on time. Ohhhh, no. That did not happen, although I did pull into the Starbucks parking lot to try to stop the bleeding. To no avail.

I drove the rest of the way to work with a Kleenex shoved up my nose while I called my mother in a panic (she didn’t pick up; she doesn’t love me.) and machine gun-like sobs escaped from my lungs. I cried my way to work with a Kleenex shoved up my left nostril.

So attractive.

When I finally got to work, it looked like I had killed someone.

There was blood ALL OVER my scarf (the one Drew brought home for me from VIENNA!), my coat, the steering wheel in my car, my pants, both of my hands and all down my arms.

I was a fucking mess.

Seriously, that kid on youtube who got all upset about the blood? You know what I’m talking about: BLOOD?! NOT FUNNYYYYYYY!!! He was fucking right.

I even opened the first aid kit I keep in my car for sanitizing wipes to wipe all of the blood off of my hands and the steering wheel.  It only kinda worked, though, because the first aid kit is kinda old and it has been sitting in my car for a while so the wet-wipe thing I used was dried out.  So, mostly, I dumped a fuck-ton of antibacterial hand gel everywhere and wiped with the not-wet-at-all wet-wipe (because I DIDN’T HAVE ANYMORE KLEENEX LEFT!). Things didn’t really work out for me this morning as I was self-conscious about my bloody-ness all day long.

Here’s the silver lining though: at least this didn’t happen on a Monday. My whole week would have been fucked.

(OMG I can’t believe I’m even about to say this- because it’s terrible and very, very offensive, but oh well I’m going to anyway…) All I could think of, though, through the whole ordeal: If I had The HIV, this would be a nightmare. And if I was a hemophiliac, I would be so fucked right now.

I don’t usually remember my dreams.

But sometimes I do.

And I have noticed a pattern to it.

The only dreams I remember are the ones where I’m about to die.

I just can't look at it the same way....

Like that time I dreamt that my house was being broken into and explosions were going off and there was a hostage situation. Or that time I dreamt that a man lived down the street had lured me into his creepy-as-fuck house only for me to find my loved ones and close, beloved family friends all dead, hanging like marionettes (read: *NSYNC-style) in boxes in his giant living room and him chasing me around his property with a sawed-off shotgun and machete. Or that time I dreamt I was being locked in some type of school gymnasium with a fuck-ton of people because wherever the hell we were was on “lockdown” and we were all safe in the gym but then some man told us we have “two minutes to get out because this place is gonna blow the fuck up” and I woke up in a panic.

 

SEE?! This is not okay!!

I woke up this morning and my face was wet and I couldn’t breathe.

I woke up and realized I had been crying in my sleep.

This time was different. I wasn’t dreaming I was dying or about to die. I dreamt that Drew had died.

Why the fuck?! WHY?!

Do you know how disturbing that was?!

That’s my baby brother. That cannot happen. Ever. He can never die.

I was a mess in my whole dream. I was running around like a ninny, completely out of control and inconsolable. I was completely irrational and out of my mind. It was awful.

I can’t even talk about it.

I wouldn’t say that I talk a lot of shit about my hometown.

I mean, there are definitely people who talk more shit about my hometown than I do. For example, my brother talks a whole lotta shit about our hometown. When he finished high school, he was done. He basically gave our hometown the middle finger and pulled a Chris Brander:

This town is full of losers and I’m pulling out to win!

Except he didn’t pull out on a bike and ride down the street. Nor was he 300 pounds. And, to my knowledge, he never sat alone in his room lip-synching to I Swear by All-4-One. (I know, it’s an excellent song!) Actually, he may have done that. I can’t be certain, though.

Anyway, my point is, our hometown is pretty okay. I mean, people can be catty and sometimes it’s really clique-y and it feels like everyone knows everyone else’s business, but that can happen anywhere.

There are times, though, when something happens and you stop for a moment and remember why your town is awesome and why the people who make up the community are just good people.

Something happened on Sunday that made me realize how glad I am to be part of my hometown and still feel a connection to it. Something horribly tragic. Something inconceivably sad.

On Sunday, four seniors from last year’s graduating class were in a car accident. Three of the four were killed and one remains in the hospital. They were just babies; they were fresh out of high school and just beginning their adventures into adulthood. The boy who lived (I swear that wasn’t an intentional Harry Potter reference!) is expected to make a full recovery, but the road will definitely be a long one.

The effect this car crash had on our community was intense. On facebook, I watched an outpouring of support fill my newsfeed, and I continue to see it.  The grief was so apparent, and all I saw was love. Love for the families, love for those lost, love for those in recovery, love for the friends who experienced loss, love for the community in general. Even people who didn’t personally know any of the kids were touched. It was truly amazing and I really just feel so thankful to have been raised in such a loving community. I’m so thankful to know people who are so caring and compassionate.

I really just want to say that it’s so important to tell those people close to you how much they mean to you. It’s important to make sure the people you care about know you love them. It’s important to think of others and reach out in times of need.

My town gets that.

And I love that.

I have been thinking and thinking all day long about what I was gonna write about today. I just couldn’t think of anything. And now, I have too much material. I have too many thoughts that don’t go together at all. One, I am sure, is an over-share. One is a confession. And one is just totally random, like that time I announced at work, unprovoked, that I wished my cat would just die (and Casey got really upset).

I guess what it comes down to is that this is my blog, and I can do whatever I want here. So I’ll just over-share as much as I want. You shut your mouth; you like it, and you know it.

One: The Over-Share

Yesterday, I had been hanging out in the sweat-lodge that is my room here at Grandma’s. Except, lately, it hasn’t been too much of a sweat-lodge. The two fans I have going and standing over the vent in my room seems to be working out for me this week. Win. Anyway, I was doing something (I can’t even remember what it was anymore. HOW OLD AM I?!) and just minding my own business. Kickin’ it with me, myself, and I.

Then I decided, ohhh em gee I’m totally brillz!

Two words, my friends: bubble bath.

Never mind the fact that I don’t even knowwww the last time I took a bath. Never mind the fact that it was 58,492 degrees where my room and bathroom is. Never mind the fact that baths make me feel like I’m dying.

I was like, Self, we are sooooo doing this.

I gathered up a book, my computer for some tunes (couldn’t find my headphones), and my phone. Just in case. (bahaha).

If I was going to be “relaxing” I thought I’d set the mood, like they do in movies. I dimmed the lights in the bathroom and set my computer on the counter, far away from water with the soundtrack to The Holiday playing on my iTunes. If I woulda had candles, girrrrl, you know they woulda been lit. I went ALL out.

There I was, chillin’ in the bathtub with my vampire book and my computer started making noises. Skype noises. What. The. Fuck. Inappropriate!  My mother was calling. OF COURSE I DIDN’T ANSWER. Hello! I was in the BATHTUB.

So I reeeeeeached, awkwardly, to get my phone (careful not to drop it in the tub! That would have been dumb.) and called that bitch up on the phone. But then we got to talking and I was no longer relaxing and then I didn’t want to be talking to her while I was naked so I made us hang up.

Two: The Confession

Before tonight, I had never eaten KFC or watched a show called The Ladies of Demolition Derby.

Now I can finally cross those things off my bucket list!

Three: The Random Fact

I went looking on the interwebz for a prompt to write on my blog because I seemingly lacked the ability to open the cabinets full of thoughts in my brain. So, the prompt I was going to use was “What book could you read over and over again?” from Plinky. I had a good answer, too. I didn’t even have to think about it. I just knew immediately what book that would be.

I’ll tell you right now. The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky.

What I can tell you about this book is that it’s truly amazing. I have read it a number of times and I get something new from it every single time. It makes me cry and it hurts my heart and it makes the reader feel. It’s just… amazing.

Here are a few gems from the book:

so this is my life. and i want you to know that i am both happy and sad and i’m still trying to figure out how that could be.
*the perks of being a wallflower

when the police came, they found my brother asleep on the roof. nobody knows how he got there.
*the perks of being a wallflower

i really think that everyone should have watercolors, magnetic poetry, and a harmonica.
*the perks of being a wallflower

maybe these are my glory days, and i’m not even realizing it because they don’t involve a ball.
*the perks of being a wallflower

sam and patrick looked at me. and i looked at them. and i think they knew. not anything specific really. they just knew. and i think that’s all you can ever ask from a friend.
*the perks of being a wallflower

i am very interested and fascinated by how everyone loves each other, but no one really likes each other.
*the perks of being a wallflower

Read it. You’ll love it. I just know it!

xoxo

SO. GOOD.