Posts Tagged ‘pain’
The Peach always does have a mirror nearby. One that can really hold us up to ourselves in life – or hold us up, period. Considering some of the stuff most of us without mirrors get into, more of us should have them.
My original ear-piercing was done with a “borrowed” military surgical needle, a couple of ice-cubes and a bottle of vodka (for disinfectant, not pain-killing). A barracks-mate was trying to cut up a chicken on the same table, and said the blood was getting in the way. Why not make every act in life into a stupid adventure?
Udo’s practicing that awful modern belief that kids are “just yelling.”
Time and again I’ve seen parents doing things that are obviously terrifying to a baby, that is reacting like any little ape, howling its distress call for its troop to come save it. Their response is always, “Oh, s/he’s just crying.”
Yes, s/he’s crying, you mindless womb and testes; you’ve got that child in a little push cart where s/he can’t see you, ramming the poor kid forward through a crowd of alien legs, in a big echoing terminal, or a huge open street. Of course s/he’s terrified! Are you too stupid to breed?
If the baby’s crying, the baby’s in trouble. OKAY? D’uh.
And that includes on an airplane. If the bad air pressure hurts an adult, consider what it’s doing to the baby. I’ve been half-blind with pain as a plane descended after a six-hour flight, and watched a little huddle of children rubbing their ears and wailing for an explanation for why their heads feel like they’re coming apart. But no, granny’s got to see the kids. Granny, it’s your DNA. You want it to survive with its hearing intact? Your life is nearly over. Give the kids a chance, for once!
Today is Memorial Day (I write these things ahead of time, or I don’t write them) and my back is KILLING me. I was cleaning chicken cages yesterday.
The Peach is so ashamed. And Udo is so angry because he’s helped shame him. Um… that’s about it. What you see is what you get.
I’m not “startled.” I’m sardonic — but that’s not here.
My characters don’t heal as fast as some others, nor to they bravely hold their peace when they’re hurting.
Men who are sick or damaged but who insist on “carrying their load” or whatever it is just get in the way. Go lie down someplace and heal, if ever, before returning to the fray. After all, in real sword battles, there was only a thin front line actually hacking at each other; behind the line, most of the fighting forces of both sides was resting, bleeding, getting the dead out of the way, drinking or eating. Men don’t have endurance; it’s why in ballet they’re saved for the fancy occasional leap or hoisting of ballerinas, while the women chug along by the half hour in the background.
I can’t say this to women; if women stepped back when they’re sick, nobody would get fed or their diapers changed. Imagine women downing tools the world over….